


Autumn in the Castle of Lions

by Starbuck7



Series: Voltron Canon Expansion [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood and Gore, Bonding, Canon Compliant, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Emotional Baggage, F/M, Fluff, Galra Keith (Voltron), Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Happy Birthday Keith, Hurt Keith (Voltron), I cradled you in my arms!, Japanese Shiro (Voltron), KEmo, Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith Emo, Keith is bad at crafts, Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, Light Angst, M/M, Micro-agression/Racism, Mild Language, No Pronouns for Pidge, OctoberPrompts2k17, POV Alternating, Pre-Relationship, Psychological Horror, Racist Language, Socially Awkward Keith (Voltron), Space Dad Shiro (Voltron), Voltron Amino, We had a bonding moment!, i'll get better at tags i promise, klance fluff, no seriously, shallura - Freeform, shangst, socially awkward keith is #sociallyawkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-10 13:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 45,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12300288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starbuck7/pseuds/Starbuck7
Summary: The battle against Zarkon is days away, now that the paladins have met the Blade of Marmora. But before Team Voltron and the Blade make their final plans to defeat the Galra empire, the paladins have four days to kill. Lance, Pidge, and Hunk have plenty of ideas of how to spend the extra time, though, especially since Halloween is just around the corner. But festivities are thelastthing on Keith's mind...





	1. Apple Pie and Artificial Atmosphere

**Author's Note:**

> This entire fic takes place between The Blade of Marmora and Belly of the Weblum. I hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not homesick!” shouted Pidge, standing up at the table, both hands now pressed against its surface. Perhaps realizing this reaction was a bit intense, Pidge rested back into the seat timidly. “It’s just… I’m not much for the outdoors still, but that was the one time of year I didn’t mind being outside." Pidge pressed a finger up and down the table, scooting a utensil forward and back along its depth distractedly. "It just starts to get cool, and you can wear comfy sweaters and eat soup and have cider and stuff.”
> 
> Pulling his face into a wide grin, Lance lifted his head towards Pidge.
> 
> “Well, why can’t we have that here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for GENERAL audiences, but the next one won't be. Each chapter can stand alone, and they all take place between The Blade of Marmora and Belly of the Weblum.

Lance sauntered through the hallways toward the galley. Shiro no longer allowed him to wear his robe to breakfast, which Lance found positively uncivilized, but he followed orders, instead opting for his full gear in case of an unexpected attack. But seriously, it’s not like he could remain alert every waking moment, right? They’d tried that before, and honestly Lance was convinced the group had made every possible wrong decision due to the mental and physical exhaustion. People needed a break, and Shiro just didn’t get that sometimes. 

The doors swished into their wall housings as he approached and Lance stepped into the room, scoping out the empty seats to see Hunk and Pidge seated across from each other near the head of the elongated table. Hunk was speaking animatedly as he entered, but Pidge’s shoulders slumped. Lance breathed in the flavors coming from the table, and heaved out a sigh as he approached, banking right. 

“I gotta hand it to ya, Hunk,” said Lance, pulling out a seat just left of Hunk--who glanced up as Lance seated himself--and grabbing a plate on which to heap Hunk’s creations, “I don’t know how you do it, but this smells delicious.”

“Well, y’know,” Hunk replied sheepishly, scratching nervously behind his right ear, “I tried some new herbs we got back on GA-SB7.” Lance settled himself back after his plate was full and took a bite. And then another. And another.

“Ah ma gawwf!” Lance moaned through a gaping cavern full of food bits, finally chewing enough to free up mouth space for talking. “It tastes even better than it smells. How is that even possible?”

“Seriously, Lance, do you have to talk with your mouth full?” Pidge interjected with slanted, pursed lips. “I’m trying to enjoy my breakfast, here. I don’t want to see that chewed-up slop.”

“Relax, Pidge, I just got caught up in the awesomeness,” Lance replied smoothly. “Besides, it all becomes chewed-up slop in the end. What’s got you so edgy?”

“Pidge figured out an algorithm to properly convert Altean time to Earth time,” Hunk replied, his voice raising a bit with a note of excitement. “It’s pretty elegant, really.”

“And what..?” Lance began, a forkful of something that he positively swore was at least bacon-flavored, if not quite the same consistency, lifting in his right hand, “you miss the premiere of the next season of Atom Academy?”

“No,” Pidge spat back. “Well, yes, technically I did. But I just… I didn’t realize it was getting so late in the year already.”

“Well, it’s what…?” Lance began again, pausing briefly, “October 21st or so, right?”

“Um,” Pidge began, eyes widening a bit and mouth softening open, “well, yeah. The computer says it’s the 21st today, though technically it’s afternoon already in the latest time zone. Wait, how did _you_ know that?”

“I’ve been keeping track when I can,” Lance replied simply. “It’s been a little tricky since their time slices only roughly match ours.”

“Yeah, my algorithm created ratios for Altean time slices and extrapolated the current date based on earth time units. Though in addition to correcting for issues in telling how much time passed before we were able to establish a metric for the time difference, I had to add a filter to correct for some of the idiosyncrasies in Altean calendar-keeping and-”

“I think you’re discussing this with the wrong paladin,” Lance interrupted, “I’m the dumb one, remember? Let’s keep the techno-talk to a minimum. It’s too early, anyway.”

“But you just said-” Pidge stopped mid-sentence, shaking a head of golden hair back and forth. 

“Seriously, though,” Hunk continued amidst Pidge’s puzzled musings, “Pidge is just a little homesick.”

“I’m not homesick!” shouted Pidge, standing up at the table, both hands now pressed against its surface. Perhaps realizing this reaction was a bit intense, Pidge rested back into the seat timidly. “It’s just… I’m not much for the outdoors still, but that was the one time of year I didn’t mind being outside.” Pidge pressed a finger up and down the table, scooting a utensil forward and back along its depth distractedly. “It just starts to get cool, and you can wear comfy sweaters and eat soup and have cider and stuff.”

Lance’s stomach churned for a moment. He had been trying to avoid thinking about the date recently, but he couldn’t help that his brain was always working out those conversions. He missed home, too, and knowing the date was the one way he could keep himself tethered to it. He missed his mom pulling hand-made clothes from boxes and letting him shop through his siblings’ old outfits to find clothes for the coming school year. Hoping, when he got his growth spurt, that the pants would fit him another year so they didn’t have to buy anything new. He missed playing futbol in the concrete basin behind the pharmacy with the older kids, his highwater pants rolled up neatly to disguise the fashion faux pa. He even missed school and the classes at the Garrison. He missed all of it. 

Pulling his face into a wide grin, Lance lifted his head towards Pidge.

“Well, why can’t we have that here?” 

“What do you mean?” Pidge asked, eyebrows knitting together tightly.

“Well, you could reprogram the environmentals, right? Make it cold in the halls like it’s outside?” Lance suggested. “And I could decorate in here with fall colors, and I’m sure Hunk could figure something out for cider, right Hunk?”

“Well, I do have something pretty similar to ginger and cardamom already… yeah, I could combine a couple of herbs to get something that tastes a little like pumpkin spice…” Hunk mused. 

“Great!” Lance declared, stuffing a few delicious morsels down his gullet and swallowing most of it, in deference to Pidge, before opening his mouth to continue. “Pidge, you get to work on environmentals. Hunk and I’ll take care of the rest.” Pidge considered his words, lips turning up into a hint of a smile.

“Yeah, okay,” Pidge agreed. “I’ll see what I can do.” Lifting up from the high-backed seat, Pidge bounded around the table and out into the hall.

“You sure about this, buddy?” Hunk questioned as the door settled closed. “Do we even have anything to decorate with?”

“Leave that to me, Hunk,” Lance replied coolly. Yeah, this was going to be okay. And they’d finally get some much-needed R&R. But he was going to need some help.

 

\---------------------------------------

 

Keith slid his left boot along the floor, pivoting his upper body right and away from a slanted stroke from the sparring bot. Placing his right hand firmly on the ground at his side, sword still pinned below it, Keith pivoted toward the bot along the ground, sweeping his leg along the floor to where its mechanical legs should have been but instead met open air. Keith carried the motion through, tucking his body in and rolling forward, swiveling his head as he righted himself and checking his periphery to spy the training bot as it landed nearby. Wrapping his fingers fully around the bayard’s hilt, he launched himself forward feinting left before cutting in right. The bot was too quick for him, and spun away from his thrust, getting behind him in a motion and knocking him hard on his left shoulder blade, sending Keith forward onto his hands and knees.

“Yo, Keith!” a voice called from the doorway.

“End simulation,” Keith growled, lifting himself to a standing position, deactivating his bayard and replacing it in its holster. “Do you mind, Lance? I’m trying to train, here.”

“Oh, come on, all you do is train, man,” Lance groaned. “I was wondering if I could convince you to take a break.”

“Some of us have more important things to do than lounge around. We’re gearing up to fight Zarkon, Lance. After this resupply mission, we’ll be in the final stretch.”

“Look, this _is_ important, okay?” Lance continued, his head knocking to the side, eyes glowering at Keith. He was intrigued by such a stern reaction, coming from Lance.

“Alright. What’s going on?” he inquired, lifting a cloth to wipe his brow and neck.

“So the thing is, Pidge put together some algorithm and just realized it’s already late October on Earth, and-”

“It’s October?” Keith perked up, gazing up at Lance as he sat down against the wall at the training room’s edge. “How late in October?”

“The twenty-first,” Lance replied, and Keith’s mind reeled for a moment. He’d had no idea it was so close. Altean quintants weren’t exactly the same as Earth days. Then adding in all the random battle times and living in space without any sun cycles, it all added up to a very strange sleeping schedule that left the paladins a little timeless. “Anyway, Pidge seems a little down about missing fall, and I thought we could do your typical October fall things to cheer everyone up. You know, decorate, eat fall foods, maybe even do Halloween.”

Keith realized he hadn’t been listening. He snapped himself back to the moment and tried to remember the half-heard words Lance had stated.

“Well, we’re kinda busy preparing, Lance,” Keith responded, sounding like a lecture even to his own ears, but he meant what he said. “There’s a whole army that would love nothing more than to catch us unprepared.”

“You’ve _gotta_ be kiddin’ me. Come _on_ , Keith.” Lance rolled his eyes dramatically. “We’re working on this crow all the time! We’re always prepping the lions, repairing the castle, training in weapons, hand-to-hand, how to use Altean tech, or whatever. It’s non-stop!” Keith rose from his position against the wall and crossed back toward Lance.

“Everything you just mentioned is critical to our survival out here.” Keith maintained an even tone, and was more sure with each word he spoke that this was the right course of action. “I know it’s not the _fun_ thing to do, but all that training is literally life or death for us.”

“No, it’s just _death_. Preventing death isn’t the same as _living_ , Keith. We have to do more than just survive. What are we fighting for if we can’t even celebrate the traditions we left behind?” Keith watched as Lance’s face fell, his expression almost dripping off his face for a moment and Keith wondered if maybe…? No, he couldn’t be homesick, could he? Keith felt his own face loosen in surprise. In a moment, Lance’s expression smoothed back up to an easy smile, his voice full of swagger. “Look, if you don’t want in, Mullet, just say so. I’m a busy guy, I can’t waste all day talking to you about this. I still gotta put up a bunch of decorations. And _make_ decorations. And find supplies to make decorations with.” Keith sighed. He would probably end up regretting this. No, he would _definitely_ end up regretting this. 

“What did you have in mind?”

 

\--------------------------------------

 

Shiro traversed the buttressed hallways, striding purposefully between curving support columns toward the training deck. Having finished his discussion with Allura, Shiro thought he might spar a bit with Keith. The younger paladin was dedicated to his study of combat, and was beginning to make real progress focusing his mind on the fight. That dissociation brought a serenity that allowed one to concentrate completely on the battle to the exclusion of all else. Keith still let his emotions distract him during battle more often than Shiro was comfortable with. But he was learning.

Shiro activated the door and walked inside… to an empty deck. He peered curiously up at the balconies, wondering if Keith had opted to select new scenario. Finding nothing, Shiro made his way to a communications panel and chimed in.

“This is Shiro, are any of the paladins up on the bridge?” Allura activated the video on her comm panel, her image blooming into existence in front of him.

“Just myself and Coran,” Allura responded. “I recall Keith mentioning he wanted to get some training in. Is he not there with you?”

“No, the room’s empty,” Shiro replied. “Can you let me know if they’re active in the castle?”

“Just hang on a few ticks,” Coran replied, head popping into screen from the left. “I’ll have their coordinates to you shortly.”

“Thank you,” said Shiro.

“Is there a problem with the paladins?” Allura inquired, with a lilt to her voice. “I could join you to search for them.”

“I’m not sure yet,” Shiro responded, “but you should stay on the bridge for now. I’ll check it out and report back as soon as I can.”

“Seems like Keith and Lance are in the galley,” Coran said. “Hunk is in the kitchen again. And number five seems to be holed up in a hallway near the medical wing.”

“Still in the galley?” Shiro mused. “Alright, thanks Coran. I’ll head there first, then move onto the kitchen.”

“Good luck, Shiro.”

“Thank you, Princess.”

Shiro traversed hallways, curving left and right until he finally reached the galley. Opening the doors, Shiro walked inside to find Keith and Lance seated with their backs to the door at the banquet table, working over a pile of colored… he couldn’t quite tell from this angle. Shiro walked a little closer, edging up on Keith’s right side.

“This material you chose,” Keith grumbled, struggling with whatever was in his hand, “it just doesn’t want to come out right.”

“Mine look fine,” Lance insisted. “Let’s see what you got.” Keith reluctantly lifted a red-toned blob of a thin substance into the air, pinched between the two fingers of his right hand. Lance’s face tightened at the lips, his eyes widening. “Well… that’s….” Lance struggled a moment later, before coughing out a guffaw, eyes squinting shut as his chest heaved with laughter. He clutched his side with one hand, tears streaming down his cheeks..

“What’s going on here?” asked Shiro, and Keith hastily shoved his red lump onto the table, sinking down a bit as he covered his work with both arms, Lance continuing to laugh heartily.

“Nothing,” Keith replied, his face a bit flushed. 

“Oh! Ohohohohooo!” Lance chuckled, wiping his eyes with his forefinger as he sighed. “Ahhh! I needed that. Yeah, we’re just working on some decorations.”

“Decorations?” asked Shiro, his eyes squinting. _That’s_ what they were doing?

“It’s not what you think,” Keith offered, spinning in his chair and standing to face the black paladin. “We’ve been working pretty hard lately and we _all_ thought it would be good to do some... team-building activities and since it’s October, Lance and Pidge thought we could make it feel a little like home. For _morale_ ,” Keith added.

_October, huh?_ Shiro pondered, but kept his face serene, training his eyes on Lance and refusing to allow them to budge. He’d have talk to the others later when things were a bit more private.

“So, how can I help?” Shiro replied.

“Seriously?” Lance’s face brightened in disbelief.

“Sure,” said Shiro. “I know how hard all the paladins have been working lately. We’re about to go up against the biggest threat yet, but our next mission is just a resupply before we meet with the Blade of Marmora. I think now is the perfect time for some…” Shiro looked directly at Keith with a raise of his eyebrow, “ _team building_.”

“You know,” Lance began, “that’s exactly what we were thinking when we planned this. Team building. Morale. Zarkon. All that.”

“Yes. Thank you, Lance,” Keith said, staring pointedly at Lance with wide eyes and Lance took the hint and started back in on an orange substance. Shiro watched the exchange with a small smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “We’re just making some fall leaves to make it look more like October for Pidge.” 

Shiro nodded. He knew being in space was an adventure for the younger paladins, and as much as he had tried to reign in that enthusiasm to focus on the problem at hand, Shiro realized he was still dealing with children. Even Keith. Their precarious living situations had to wear on them, and if even Keith was willing to go along with this so close to their final battle, the paladins must really need some downtime.

“Correction,” Lance interjected. “ _I_ am making fall leaves. I’m not exactly sure what Keith’s making.” Keith’s face flushed.

“Well, let’s see yours, then!” Keith barked back. With a crooked grin, Lance lifted a flawless orange Maple leaf cut-out into the air with both hands. Keith’s face darkened and he sat and began furious work on the red stack in front of him.

“Do you need me to cut out more leaves out of… whatever this is?” Shiro asked.

“Nah,” Lance replied. “Maybe you could hang up what I’ve got already.” Lance indicated a stack of perfect orange leaves in a variety of shapes to his left. “I’ll help Keith with the red ones.”

“I don’t need your help,” 

“Tell that to this,” Lance replied, scooping up a single red leaf-attempt.

“What’s wrong with that one?”

“It’s a perfect circle!” Lance shouted back. “We’re not making polkadots! What kind of leaf looks like this? And why is it so small?”

“I was trying to fix it… and… I ran out of material.”

“‘Measure twice, cut once,’ Keith.” Shiro walked around the pair’s backs to Lance’s left side and began organizing the stacks of leaves. 

“These are impressive, Lance,” Shiro admitted.

“Yeah, you like my solution? We grabbed some of the foam cubes we picked up for the Chaikari, then used some of the kitchen hardware to slice them _super-fine_ , just like me,” he added. Shiro raised an eyebrow and kicked the base of Lance’s chair in annoyance. “Oh, right. The adhesive is on the chair right here,” Lance indicated with his left hand, oblivious to Shiro’s irritation. “Something Hunk created by accident in his Kitchen Chemlab.” Shiro sighed and shrugged internally. There was really no way to prevent Lance from spouting pick-up lines.

“Didn’t we procure these for the Chaikari to aid in toxic waste cleanup that’s threatening an entire settlement? We’re supposed to use these to trade for supplies,” Shiro admonished as he pried the cylinder from the seat with his metallic hand, a handful of ultra-thin foam sheets already filling his left hand.

“We only grabbed two. There are, like, two thousand fifty eight left,” complained Lance. “It’ll be fine, Coran said they probably only needed eighteen hundred, anyway. Besides, they’ll still work even if they’re shaped like leaves. We can keep a few around in case we need them later.” 

“I suppose it does makes sense to keep a few on hand,” Keith offered. “We never know what we’ll be able to acquire on resupply. We should hold a few things in reserve just in case.” Shiro smiled. Now Keith was thinking like a leader.

“Where do you want these?”

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

Hunk crouched level to the counter, a small, clear, cylindrical container positioned in front of his nose. Eyes squinting, he lifted his hand, steadily gliding a small measuring spoon into place above it and dashing its contents inside. Hunk paused with a few granules left inside, eyes widening in trepidation. Drawing the unused granules away gently, Hunk lifted himself slightly so his nose was poised directly above the contents. Hunk breathed in and smiled, standing fully. 

“Perfect,” he sighed, placing his hands on his hips and chest puffing outward, observing his creation. “Cider, huh? I can do much better than that.” Hunk poured a number of colored liquids into a bowl on the stovetop to warm. Then, pulling out some additional ingredients, he began preparing a crust while simultaneously blanching and skinning a thick, green-skinned gourd, slicing it open, and removing its seeds. While the crust was starting to bake, he sliced the gourd’s flesh into thin slices, and poured sugar and the spice mixture on top, tossing them together. He pulled out the crust and filled it with the light squash, crumbling a crust on top.

Cooking was always a mixture of emotions for Hunk. It was relaxing to his brain, but mostly because his mind was completely consumed by the activity. The smells and tastes filled his senses, the exciting combinations of ingredients filled his mind with possibility, and timing everything so it all came together at the end took up every remaining brain cell, and that meant forgetting everything else. Nothing was more relaxing than that. It was pure bliss.

Hunk took a deep breath, using a sleeve to wipe a bit of sweat from his forehead, then patted his hands on an apron, crumble crust dusting off his fingers onto the coarse fabric. He would rather not think about why he was cooking this particular meal, however. He didn’t want to remember home. If he thought about home, he would miss it too much. Focusing on cooking was a welcome distraction.

It was fun, of course, being part of Voltron. He knew what they did was important, and he definitely didn’t want to disappoint his friends. But sometimes he wondered what he was doing here. Were they all crazy? Why hadn’t they asked to just go home already?

“What’s all this?” a warm voice intoned from the doorway. Hunk turned to see Allura walking in, looking wide-eyed every which way at the various stations of food production. Hunk walked over to the root soup to blend the ingredients together, hoping the action would disguise the mildly treasonous thoughts in his head.

“Just making the best Autumn lunch of all time,” Hunk beamed, buzzing the mixer until the mixture was barely chunky, and taking a block of an aged Mytrolis milk curd, shredding it into the mixture. “Should be ready soon.”

“Well, it does smell delicious,” Allura began. “Where is Autumn? Is that one of the ‘countries’ you’ve told me about on your planet?”

“Oh, no, Autumn is a season. It’s the time of year when it starts getting cold, so we make warmer foods for fall and winter.”

“Autumn... And what are fall and winter, then?” Allura inquired, leaning against a countertop. 

“Oh, sorry, autumn and fall are synonyms,” Hunk chuckled to himself. “Winter is the coldest season, just after fall.” Hunk peered over his shoulder at Allura and smirked at the princess, “Hey, I guess now you know how we feel when Coran uses Altean idioms with us. I swear, sometimes I only catch half of what he says, but I just go with it.” He made a sliding gesture with his hand to emphasize how smoothly he rolled with Coran’s jibberish.

“I just came down to check on Shiro and the other paladins. He said he would come here after visiting the galley, and I thought I would meet him here once he had finished. Has Shiro not arrived?”

“Haven’t seen him. He must still be there. Maybe you should go check. He was probably held up with Lance and Keith.”

“No,” Allura replied tersely, and her head snapped down and away sharply. “No, that’s alright. I’ll return to the bridge. When you see Shiro, have him contact the bridge for an update.”

“Of course,” Hunk replied with a mock salute, and Allura walked toward the exit, but paused short of the door.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Allura started, looking back at Hunk over her shoulder, delicate hand poised on her chin, “what is the purpose of such food if the environmentals are always set to a neutral temperature? It shouldn’t be cold enough to necessitate such warm food.” 

Hunk smirked, face hidden from the Altean Princess.

“Not for long,” replied Hunk, tossing a bag of spices into the juice mixture and stirring slowly over a warm simmer. She would see soon enough.

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

Pidge sat cross legged, laptop nestled on short legs, tapping furiously, face squishing in concentration. 

The environmental problem was proving trickier than originally anticipated. The Altean system had measures in place to restore balance between the main rooms--such as the bridge, rec room, galley, and swimming pool--and the hallways in case of issues. It was automatic. Pidge tried to look for exceptions to piggyback an alteration on, but the only one that looked promising so far was the automatic door locks in the case of explosive decompression, which of course allowed for the temperature in a room to be warmer, but more due to lack of oxygen content outside of it. Of course, it was possible to make all the areas including the bridge freezing, but it was likely Allura and Coran would take exception to that. It was even possible to work around the temperature correction, it just had the slight drawback of possibly leaving corridors open to the vacuum of space in the event of a direct hit to the castle. It was different in the private rooms. Since they didn’t receive as much traffic, their temperature settings were more customizable. 

How could they link the air systems for the meeting rooms with the hallway? It seemed like a massive oversight. Pidge pulled a face and started clicking through sub-systems, searching for something that could be modified to allow the differential other than the auto-locks. It was a struggle, but Pidge was striving to be more cautious with readapting Altean technology since the fuel booster incident, and venting the castle to space seemed like a little too severe of a potential side effect.

It had taken some time for Pidge to become familiar with Altean systems when they first came on board; they had a certain amount of redundancy built in, which was not necessarily a bad thing. There were layers of backups that helped prevent a virus or string of extraneous code from completely destroying a system and made clean reboots simple and user-friendly. For the task at hand, however, that meant not only was there extra information to comb through, but any changes Pidge wanted to make outside of the pre-written programs already imbedded in the system required thousands of lines of code in several locations that Pidge was not at all interested in writing in an alien language. Having already downloaded a few programs to examine, Pidge at once set to work combing through the Altean code to see if something could be borrowed and retooled instead.

It was really nice of Lance and Hunk to offer to make Autumn in the Castle of Lions. In all honesty, Pidge was a little anxious about their upcoming meeting with the Blade of Marmora. The Galran resistance organization had requested about one movement’s time to get in contact with operatives and assess their level of participation before meeting up to plan the attack against Zarkon, and frankly, the waiting was worse. Then there was the search for Matt to worry about. _I’m not going home without him_ , thought Pidge, combing through some temperature stats and harvesting some code. Unbidden, a thought crept through the paladin’s once-focused mind. _But mom…_ Pidge pushed the thought away. No, when Katie had decided to be Pidge, there had been no turning back. Pidge’s whole career was based in the search for the crew of the Kerberos mission. And Voltron had helped make that happen. Pidge would fight with Voltron and find Matt, or there would be no going home.

Pidge’s back and neck felt stiff, the discomfort finally overshadowing the depth of concentration. Based on past experience, that meant it had likely been over an hour. _There is no_ way _I’m giving up now_ , thought Pidge, arching spine and craning neck toward the wall before squinting angrily back the screen. Then Pidge saw it.

“Gotcha!” An exclusion parameter in the environmentals for swimming pool, which was a public area that was normally controlled through the same hallway air system. That meant the exclusion could simply be modified rather than write a whole new program, expanding to include the hallway system. And it would not affect the parameters currently in place for decompression failsafes. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” 

“Where are we getting?” a deep voice called out from down the hall and Pidge shrieked, snapping the computer shut and shoving it behind a column. 

“Nothing! Nowhere!” Pidge shouted, and tried not to pull a face. _Very believable, nice going, Pidge_. Shiro chuckled as he walked the remaining distance. 

“It’s alright, Pidge, I already gave Keith and Lance the go-ahead.”

“The go-ahead for…” Pidge continued, suspicious that Shiro might be laying a trap to get a confession of guilt.

“The fall celebration,” Shiro replied. “It’s alright, I understand things have been tense around here lately. A break is just what we all need. So, how are things going with the environmentals?”

“Well, I think I figured out what to do. I’ve got the pieces I need, but I haven’t set it up yet. Give me a minute.” Pidge plucked the laptop from behind the column and opened its monitor. It took a few minutes longer than Pidge thought it would to embed the code properly to create a paired exception to include the hallways, and not just because Shiro kept asking for explanations and status updates, pacing up and down the hall. “I think that’s it!” Pidge exclaimed at last, looking up from the screen at Shiro, who offered a hand. Pidge pulled a few cords from an open wall panel, replacing its cover gently, and turned, looking around the hallway. 

“How will we know it’s worked?” Shiro asked.

“I don’t know,” Pidge began, taking a breath. “It could take a minute. Does it… feel any colder?”

“Not yet,” Shiro admitted. “But it’s a big ship. Come on down to the galley and we’ll finish decorating.”

“Alright,” Pidge agreed, falling into step with Shiro as they walked through the belly of the ship. Pidge eyed Shiro, wondering if he’d mind being asked a question. Shiro looked back and caught Pidge’s eye for a moment, and the younger paladin’s eyes snapped forward nervously.

“Are you alright?” Shiro asked, and Pidge almost jumped.

“It’s nothing,” blurted Pidge, head hanging sheepishly. 

“It’s about Matt and your father, right?” Shiro asked. Pidge’s eyes widened.

“Well, yeah. I know you don’t remember much about your time as a prisoner, but you’re the best lead I have right now. And with us going up against Zarkon soon…”

“Look,” Shiro began, pausing to face Pidge properly, “we don’t know yet what will happen in the fight against Zarkon. But I can tell you, I will help you in any way I can. If there’s anything I can do that will help you find your father and Matt, I’ll make it happen.” Pidge nodded.

“Thanks, Shiro.” Pidge squished a pair of lips to one side, squinting quizzically. Shiro, seeing the expression of consternation, smirked down at Pidge. 

“What is it?”

“What did you think of my father, when you first met him?”

“Hmm…” Shiro pondered for a moment. “Your father was impressive from the moment we met. He was so self-assured, and I’d already read a good portion of his published work, so it was easy to put my fate in his hands. If anything, I was a bit worried he’d think I was under qualified.”

“Really?”

“Well, I moved quickly through the ranks, but I was only twenty-four. I thought he might think I was too young to pilot the mission. And then I met your brother.”

“Must have been nice to know you wouldn’t be the youngest member of the mission.”

“It was a relief. At first I was a little worried about Matt.”

“You thought he was too young,” Pidge said knowingly.

“I thought _I_ was too young, so yes, I thought Matt was definitely too young to fly to Kerberos. But when we actually met…” Shiro smiled fondly. “I thought he might be the smartest person I’d ever met, including your father.” There was a twinge in Pidge’s stomach. They reached the door to the galley, and paused in front of it. Trying to avoid Shiro’s gaze, Pidge cast a gaze away to the smooth flooring. “But I don’t think that anymore,” he continued.

“What? Why not?” queried an outraged Pidge. “My brother’s amazing!”

“Because I met _you_ ,” Shiro replied, and Pidge’s mouth and eyes opened wide in surprise. “I’ve seen your brilliance in action, Pidge, and it’s saved the lives of everyone on this ship more than once. I honestly think you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. Smarter than Matt, smarter than your father. I can’t _wait_ to see what you become.” A smile spread, gradually at first, across the paladin’s soft face until the grin was positively beaming from ear to ear, and Shiro returned it. “Hey, Pidge?”

“Yeah?”

“I think it’s actually a little cold out here. Shall we go in?” Pidge’s smile widened, a near impossibility.

“Definitely.” He pressed the control panel on the wall and the doors slid open.

Pidge gaped at the stylized tree on the far wall, red and orange leaves bunched together on unseen branches. Approaching the table, the pair could see orange jack-o-lanterns spotting the table with a few red maple leaves strewn in the empty spaces. The table was set and a lovely aroma was wafting toward them with smells of cinnamon and something delightfully cheesy. Pidge couldn’t stop smiling.

“I thought you said you needed help decorating.”

“And ruin the big reveal?” Lance remarked from behind them and Pidge almost jumped turning to look at him. “It’s better this way. Hey! It’s pretty cold out there. Nice goin’, Pidge!” Lance bumped elbows with the shorter paladin, nudging encouragingly. The remaining paladins were standing to the left of the door from where they entered. Lance wore a goofy grin, and over his shoulder Keith’s passive face evoked an air of disinterest. To his left stood Hunk with a bright smile and a wave. There was another smaller tree behind them on the other side of the door. Turning to the right of the door, Pidge could see Allura and Coran had hidden on the other side by yet another fall tree.

“Yeah, it took me a little longer than I thought.”

“Everyone take a seat!” called Hunk, heading to the table and Pidge noticed on closer inspection that the leaves on the table were name placards. They all sat at their assigned seats, Lance on Keith’s left side, Shiro on his right, and Allura right next to Shiro at the head of the table. On the far side of the table sat Coran at Allura’s right, then Pidge and Hunk. Hunk served them each up a bowl.

“It’s a cheesy potato soup,” Hunk explained, dishing Lance first and making his way around the table. “Well, I mean, it is kinda. I used a root that’s kind of like a cross between a potato and an onion, so I think the flavor should work out.”

“Where did you get the cheese?” Keith asked.

“Kaltenecker is off limits, Hunk. I've got plans for that milk,” said Lance through a mouthful of hot soup. Pidge glared at him and was pleased to see the tall paladin’s eyes widen in a look of mild fear.

“Relax, they sold curds on Mytrolis,” Hunk replied, voice soaked with pride. Pidge was starving by the time Hunk set down the bowl and immediately launched into the delicious soup. Across the table, Shiro clapped a pair of hands together.

“Itadakimasu,” Shiro intoned, lifting a spoon to take a bite, and a few moments later, the paladins and Alteans alike were praising Hunk’s efforts. Pidge hadn’t seen Shiro do that before. They all knew about his roots, but Shiro had never given any sign of his personal life in all the time they’d been aboard the castle. Pidge wondered if maybe Shiro missed home a little, too. 

“Seriously, Hunk, you are a food genius,” Lance moaned after fully swallowing another bite. Pidge smiled pointedly in gratitude. “An engineer genius AND a food genius. That’s way too many geniuses in one person. It’s just not even fair.”

“It’s really good,” Keith said simply. “I haven’t eaten cheese in forever.”

“Yes, great job,” said Shiro.

“Excellent work, Hunk,” Allura nodded. 

“If anyone’s thirsty, I have cider. Technically, it’s wassail. We don’t have apples, so wassail uses a mix of several fruit juices with a spice mixture.” Hunk poured a glass for Pidge, who passed it down to Coran and then around the table.

“It’s awesome, Hunk!” exclaimed Pidge with a smile. Everything was perfect. Pidge gazed at the pair of trees opposite the doors and smiled. _They did this all for you,_ a soft whispered in the back of Pidge’s head. Maybe home wasn’t so far away. The castle was a pretty good home, and the paladins were a pretty good family. “Thank you, everyone. The lunch, the room. Everything is so great. Thanks for making it feel like… _autumn_.” The unspoken word hung in the air over the paladins’ heads, and Pidge regretted altering the statement. _Home_. They all knew what Pidge had meant to say, anyway.

“The decorations are quite impressive,” said Allura, sensing the tension in the air and blessedly choosing to fill the space. “Thank you Lance, Shiro.”

“Well,” Lance began, “you know Keith helped with the decorations, too, right?” Showing no indication she’d heard Lance’s protestation, Allura continued. 

“Are these all customs typical of your peoples during this time of year?” she asked, and Pidge’s eyes flicked to Keith, whose eyes darkened and dropped to his bowl. Did she seriously just leave out Keith on purpose? That was just _cold_ … “I assume since you all come from such varied backgrounds that you all have different customs to share.”

“Well, for most of us in the fall we usually decorate with the colors of the harvest,” Shiro offered. “Historically, our peoples used to harvest food for winter during that season, though our food production now happens year-round. But we still honor those traditions and the types of foods that are eaten during this time of year reflect what used to be available.”

“Oh, and there’s Halloween,” said Hunk, taking a sip of wassail.

“That’s the best part!” Lance exclaimed, slapping a hand against the table. “For most cultures on earth, there’s a celebration to honor the dead around this time of year so their spirits won’t haunt you through the next year. Some people call it Halloween or All Hallow’s Eve or Dia de los Muertos. I mean, in Cuba we mostly visited cemeteries--the place we bury our dead--and placed flowers. But I did get to go to a cultural center a couple times, and there was dancing and blessings and altars to honor a bunch of different cultures. In America, though, it was totally different.”

“Yes, in America children generally dress up in costumes and go to people’s homes asking for sweets,” Shiro offered.

“And there’s all the horror films,” Hunk offered. “Lance totally freaked out at the last one I showed him.”

“I did not,” insisted Lance, arms crossing. 

“Horror films?” Allura inquired.

“Since we spend the holiday focused on the dead,” Pidge said, “some people like to watch movies that depict the dead rising up and attacking the living. Or just people going on murder sprees.”

“Um, that’s… an interesting tradition,” Allura replied, positively greening. To Pidge’s own surprise, that was incredibly satisfying to the youngest paladin.

“It’s not for everyone,” a smug Pidge replied.

“I was _not_ freaked out,” Lance’s voice boomed. “I’ll have you know I am incredibly stoic during horror films. I am cool as a cucumber.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” Hunk chortled. “I think you almost cried when that little girl--”

“That’s because I was SAD for her, Hunk. It wasn’t scary, it was... _depressing_. Horror films are nothing to me. I don’t get scared over something as silly as that.”

“Keep telling yourself what you need to hear, Lance,” Keith soothed, but it sounded weary. Pidge thought Keith looked like he was jumping out of his own skin. Clearly Allura’s dismissal was getting to him. 

“I am immune to the whole horror genre, mullet!” Lance positively growled, wagging a finger in his direction. “If we had one to watch right here, right now, I’d probably sleep right through it!”

“Uh huh,” a disinterested Keith intoned, poking the last of his soup with his spoon but not bothering to eat further.

“Man, I miss dressing up,” said Hunk. “That’s the best part, pretending to be your favorite character. Getting to be that person for a day.”

“Yeah,” Pidge agreed. “One year Matt and I both wanted to do Star Trek, but we couldn’t choose who the other character would be. Mom said either we could share or we had to pick something else. So we both went as Spock,” Pidge laughed. “What about you, Keith? What was your Halloween like?” Keith looked up, locking eyes with Pidge for a moment, but dropped his gaze almost immediately.

“I dressed up a couple times. It’s no big deal.”

“Perhaps we could attempt something similar here,” Allura suggested. “Although I’m not certain what we’ll need.” She did it again. She interrupted Keith. What was her problem? 

“I suppose on the re-supply mission we’ll just have to see what other supplies we can pick up,” Shiro said. Keith pushed his seat back and stood.

“I’ll be on the Training Deck,” he said, turning toward the door.

“Wait, you can’t leave yet!” Hunk called. “I made dessert!’

“Yeah,” Pidge said, standing in front of the white chair and calling after the red paladin. “You have to stay, Keith. Please, just a little while longer.”

“Yeah, you know if Hunk made it, it’s probably going to blow your mind,” Lance added. Keith sighed, stepping back up to the table and settling down in his seat once more, clenched jaw tensing the lines of his set face. Hunk collected a dish from the end of the table, removing the lid to reveal a crumble-top pie.

“Apple pie,” Hunk announced, setting it down in the middle of the table and dishing out slices for everyone. Pidge took a plate, lifting a forkful and chomping into possibly the best apple pie ever made. 

“This is delicious! Where did you find apples?” Pidge asked. “Wait, didn’t you say you couldn’t make apple cider because we didn’t have apples?”

“Yeah, it’s an old trick to use squash that’s grown too big as pie filling. The slices are just like apples.”

“So this is squash?” a disbelieving Lance inquired. “Man, you _are_ a food genius.”

“It’s really good, Hunk.” Keith offered. 

“So, why all the different colors?” Allura inquired and Pidge could have stabbed her. Why was she acting like such a jerk to Keith all of the sudden? 

“The leaves on our planet change different colors when the seasons change before they fall off the trees,” answered Hunk. “Did that not happen on Altea?”

“Well, of course,” Coran replied, “any living thing changes a different color when it dies.” Lance laughed.

“Guess I never thought of it like that.”

“No, I mean, on earth the leaves change color on the trees,” Hunk offered, “sometimes for a few weeks or months before they fall.”

“A few movements or over a phoeb,” Lance chimed in. “And that’s why we call it fall.”

“But what causes the leaves to change color?” Coran asked. Lance shrugged.

“I was told it was the cold weather.”

“Well, technically,” Pidge chimed in, “during the fall phoebs, plants produce chlorophyll at slower rates, and the green from the chlorophyll usually masks the colors from carotenoids, but in the fall those colors become predominant. Or in some other plants, they begin producing anthocyanins at the end of summer that change the color.”

“So the temperature doesn’t change the plants?” Lance asked.

“Not directly, no,” Pidge replied and Coran piped in after.

“You know, there is a planet in the Kalistor system that has color-changing leaves that are affected by temperature fluctuations.”

“Really?” asked Lance. “Cool!”

“Oh, yes,” said Coran, “it’s quite spectacular. There are few things that compare to the excitement or splendor of the Kalistorian forests in the heat or cold. Except perhaps an Altean Rock Fall!”

“Is it fall there now? Could we go there?” Pidge asked, perking up at the mention of the alien planet. “It might be cool to see autumn on another planet. I mean, is that alright, Shiro? I know we still have to do the supply run before we meet up to talk about the plan.”

“What do you think, Princess?” Shiro asked, turning to Allura at his side. “I definitely think we should get those cubes to the Chaikari first and gather our supplies. But afterward, we still have a few days before rendezvousing with the Blade of Marmora.”

“It would only take us a day’s travel from Chaikar to get to Kalistor without conducting a jump,” Coran offered. “Since we’re trying not to call attention to ourselves at present.”

“I suppose we could take a slight detour,” Allura began. 

“Awesome,” said Hunk, and Pidge nearly pumped a fist. Coran continued to discuss some plans with Allura, Shiro told them about when he dressed up as L from Death Note, but he was supposed to be too young to watch it so he pretended it was the school uniform for Kageyama from Haikyuu until he left the house and added dark makeup under his eyes. Lance laughed with them about his and Hunk’s first Halloween together at the garrison. But Pidge watched Keith, sitting in silence.

The party broke up slowly. Not unexpectedly, as soon as Coran stood to go, Keith tried to make a break for it. Pidge jumped up, shouting another thank you to the crowd and chasing him down the hall. 

“Hey, Keith!” shouted Pidge, and Keith turned in shock. 

“What? What’s going on?”

“Huh? I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh,” he replied, looking a little flabbergasted. Pidge crossed the distance between them and began walking toward the Training Deck, his inevitable final destination. Keith followed suit. “What did you... want to talk about?”

“I…” Pidge began, but didn’t have a solid answer. “I guess I just don’t know what’s going on with Allura today. She was a real jerk to you. I don’t know what her damage is, but I suppose I wanted you to know that her ignoring you is totally out of line.”

“It’s… it’s okay,” Keith replied, a heavy sigh escaping from between his parted lips as he thought in silence. “I can understand how recent events would put her on edge around me.”

“What has Zarkon got to do with this?” Pidge exclaimed. “We’re all on edge about planning the battle. That’s no reason to take it out on you.”

“Are we talking about the same thing, here?” Keith asked, eyes squinting.

“What do you mean?”

“So, you think she’s acting out because she’s stressed?” Keith confirmed, a strange tone in his voice. 

“Well, I guess so,” Pidge replied, “I mean, what else would it be?” 

To the eternal surprise of both paladins, Keith smiled.

“Thanks, Pidge. That made me feel a little better.”

“You’re welcome,” replied Pidge in bewilderment. Pidge didn’t think anything important had really been said, but at least Keith was feeling better. “Can I observe the gladiator on the Training Deck? I’ve been wanting to take a look at the specs.”

“Sure thing,” he replied. “Before I know it you’ll be reprogramming that thing.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for that,” Pidge replied, and the pair fell into an easy pace down the hallways in the gentle chill of Autumn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I had a great time writing this, even if having a deadline is a bit stressful. The next chapter should be out by the 14th at the latest, and the remaining chapters will come out weekly until Halloween.
> 
> A big thank you to GlassAlice for the editing assist. Thanks! Check out [GlassAlice on tumblr!](http://yuzuling.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you want, you can [check me out on tumblr](http://starbuck-7.tumblr.com/), too.


	2. Weirder Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So there’s some super-being that might attack us because it got trapped outside of spacetime?” Pidge asked. “I mean, it sounds like a load of crow, but… cool.”
> 
> “Excellent,” Lance said. “I say we do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is psychological horror. If you're not into that, don't worry. I'll release a gore-less chapter next week. These chapters can stand alone. All five will fit between The Blade of Marmora and Belly of the Weblum.

Lance stepped off the shuttle as soon as the bay door opened, a box of supplies tucked tightly under his arm. He headed straight back to his room, ducking away out of the sight of the others, still gathering their purchases from Chaitar. 

Pidge had been particularly nosy, doing everything possible to sneak a glance at his purchases. The bribery offers were tempting, but after Hunk had tried distracting him with a box of dry paints to let Pidge sneak up on him, Lance was too annoyed to give in. He kept his box closed, its contents out of sight on principle. 

It's not like they wouldn’t find out soon enough; the parties were only a couple days away. But they’d agreed the Halloween costumes needed to be clever, and he didn’t want anyone spoiling the surprise. Lance activated the door to his room, and shuffled inside with the large crate, which he sat on the storage box inside his door. Tilting open the lid, he pulled out a circular ball of a squishy yarn made of possibly the softest substance he’d ever touched. He’d gotten a few colors and, from his calculations, it would be more than enough to complete his project. He also had some of it non-spun for another project. Getting what he needed from the Chaitari Metalurgist had been the real challenge. The two larger rods had been a simple matter, but the small spined needle had proven an odd request, and it had been tailor made to his specifications out of a metal stronger and sharper than steel. It was dangerous, but it was worth the risk, if he could pull it off.

Lance sat cross legged on the ground and prepared the needle gently, careful to give the short spines a wide berth. He took a deep breath.

“Paladins!” Allura’s voice boomed through the speakers, and Lance dropped the needle in his lap. “You are needed on the bridge immediately!” Lance’s eyes widened, and he froze, not bothering to breathe or even move his head, his eyes drifting down to the needle’s precarious perch. Lance slowly reached down, plucking it gingerly with two fingers of his right hand. Two tines caught on the fabric of his pants, and so did Lance’s breath, but they gratefully broke free without damaging the fabric, or anything below it.

“Well, _that_ was close,” Lance sighed, and chuckled nervously. He quickly replaced his purchases in the box, sealing it shut. There wasn’t much he could do besides activate the door locks, and that meant if there was the will, Pidge would find a way. Lance opted to stuff the box into the storage bench by his door, placing face cream, his robe, and an Olkari cube Coran had given him on its top, trying to memorize the placement of each, so at least he’d know if it had been disturbed. That would do, for now. Pidge wouldn’t figure out his costume just from that, anyway. But he might want to figure out some bribery of his own to protect his stuff until the Halloween party.

Lance was still wearing his gear from the resupply mission--they’d had to show the Chaitari how the sponges they offered removed substances from waterways first--so he headed straight down to the bridge. Man, weren’t they ever gonna get a break around here? He had plans for the supplies he picked up, and only a few days to realize them. Turning, he caught sight of Pidge walking through the entrance just ahead of him, and Lance picked up the pace with his long legs and followed the small paladin, sweeping into the room side-by-side.

“Excellent, you’re all here,” Allura said. 

“Late as usual, Lance,” said Keith, voice dripping with derision, but his smile showed no hint of the animosity of his words. Coran was loading boxes of supplies along the left wall of the bridge, nestling the last one in place.

“Hey! I got here the same time as Pidge!” Lance protested, looking to the green paladin for assistance.

“Sorry, I was just putting my stuff away still,” said Pidge.

“That’s alright, Pidge,” Shiro replied. “Let’s get started.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Lance grumbled as Allura stepped forward from the platform to speak.

“Pidge, your algorithm is indicating to us that we may be close to a Galran scouting patrol,” Allura indicated the station, and Pidge crossed to it, sitting and tapping through some information. 

“Yep,” Pidge confirmed, “I programmed it to look for scouts after our last battle with Zarkon. I knew he’d be looking for the Black Lion, so the computer has been extrapolating potential danger zones due to the increased activity in areas surrounding existing Galran outposts. Looks like we might be about to pass through a hot zone.”

“Unfortunately,” Allura continued, “this will limit our access to Kalistor. The safest, most direct route will put us too close to possible Galra patrols. We cannot allow Zarkon to track our movements prior to our final attack.”

“Does this mean we can’t go see Autumn in the Kalistorian forests?” Pidge’s voice caught, and Lance’s gut tightened. Pidge seemed better since their fall-themed lunch, but they were all looking forward to seeing fall on another planet, and Pidge most of all. 

“What do you mean, ‘the safest route’?” Hunk asked before Lance had the opportunity. “Is there another way to get to Kalistor?”

“Well, there is one possibility,” Coran interjected, “but it might be more dangerous than risking the Galran patrols.”

“Okay, I’m out,” Hunk said, both hands raised at his chest and he waved them back and forth with the shake of his head.

“How dangerous are we talking?” Keith inquired. Lance’s eyes squinted. What did Keith care about the fall planet? He was probably hoping to show off in front of the others.

“Yeah, how dangerous?” Lance asked, crossing his arms across his chest. Keith frowned over at Lance, who offered a prideful smirk in return. Keith shook his head and looked back at Coran for an answer. 

“Well, we won’t have transmission capabilities, for one. In fact, the interference will be so strong within the field, I’m worried most of our technology will be affected, including our scanners and engines. The bayards are especially susceptible. I’m afraid activating one within the field might cause a massive explosion.”

“Alright,” Shiro began, “everyone leave your bayards here with Coran. Pidge, can you make sure they’re deactivated properly?”

“Yeppers,” Pidge replied with a grin. Lance let the green paladin collect his bayard, bringing it to Coran and setting to work deactivating the four devices. Keith was the last to place his on the panel, and as he turned, he nearly collided with Allura. The two caught each other’s gaze for a moment, and then Keith looked down, walking away in silence. 

_What was_ that _about?_ thought Lance, and he huffed watching the exchange. Keith’d better not be going after Allura. Unreal.

“What else is so dangerous about this field?” Lance asked. “You said ‘for one’. Is there a two?”

“Well, it’s mostly rumors,” Coran began. “There were tales of a peaceful race called the Skareks’il. This was long before Altea came to power.”

“They were supposedly a race of great power and technology,” Allura offered, clear admiration in her voice. “They had the ability to step outside of space and time and step back in wherever they wanted. This is a technology that Altea at its height had only begun to emulate through the use of a teludav and what you call wormholes.”

“Yes, well, the Skareks’il were betrayed,” Coran shrugged, his voice turning dire. “Skareks was destroyed, and the remains of their homeworld were said to be here. But the debris cloud itself isn’t the problem, it’s the interference field surrounding it that’s most dangerous.”

“Well, we’ve already taken care of the bayards, so…” Shiro began, looking pointedly at Coran. 

“Oh, yes, well there is a third problem,” Coran nodded emphatically at Shiro, who looked to Allura. She smiled with a small shrug. Coran continued in a frank tone. “There are tales, mind you, that the being that betrayed the Skareks’il to their deaths is now trapped in the place outside time, locked to that space as a punishment for his disloyalty. And in its rage it occasionally lashes out at passing ships, harvesting energy from the ship and its passengers to re-corporealize.”

“So there’s some super-being that might attack us because it got trapped outside of spacetime?” Pidge asked. “I mean, it sounds like a load of crow, but… cool.”

“Oh, there’s never been any corroboration,” Coran stated dismissively. “I heard a tale from some Galinite Miners a few phoebs back that said an entire crew disappeared there, nothing left on the shuttle. But you know Galinians, tales taller than a Chartal Hunting Wyrm.”

“And that’s… tall, right?” Pidge asked, eyebrows knitted together in disbelief. 

“Well, tall if you’re a Galinian. But the Galinians themselves are... actually quite small.”

“So, not tall at all, then,” Pidge confirmed.

“Will the ship be safe if we proceed through it?” Shiro asked.

“Well…” Coran shrugged. “We won’t have our particle barrier, but the debris cloud is so fine, we shouldn’t suffer any damage. But without our engines we won’t be able to steer. We’ll have to gain speed, punch through the cloud, and let our momentum carry us through. By my calculations, it’ll take about three vargas to clear the field.”

“That’s just over four hours with no engines,” Lance said. “Will we have lights?”

“Oh, yes, internal power functions and life support should be unaffected,” Coran assured him. 

“Excellent,” Lance said. “I say we do it.”

“What?” Keith seemed surprised. 

“Hey, it’s just a stupid cloud,” Lance replied. “I mean, come on, you don’t believe this interdimensional being crap, do you?”

“Actually no,” Keith replied. “But we’ll still be defenseless, Lance. What if Zarkon’s forces attack?”

“Then they’ll blow themselves to smithereens in the process,” said Lance, fingertips of both hands shooting outward in a simulated explosion.

“Alright, you two,” Shiro interjected. “Listen, this is a lot of risk to undertake, and there’s no mission on Kalistor. This was only ever about sightseeing. We’re not going through this cloud unless everyone agrees.”

“Well, you know I’m in,” Lance said immediately. “Hunk?”

“I don’t know, man,” Hunk began, trailing off. “Look, if I get killed by some traitorous interdimensional beast, I’m so going to come back and haunt you.”

“Awesome!”

“I’m in, too,” said Pidge. Lance offered a high five, and Pidge did not leave him hanging, slapping their hands together with a smirk.

“Keith?” Shiro asked, and Keith looked away. It was the same as when he’d almost collided with Allura, but it didn’t look like flirting this time. Lance watched the red paladin’s face, and furrowed his brows when he saw Keith’s expression. _What’s he thinking about…?_ Lance wondered, but Keith interrupted his thoughts, turning and starting for the door.

“Do whatever you want,” he grumbled. “I’ll be in my room.”

“Well, if we have your approval, Princess, I do believe we’ve reached a consensus,” Coran offered. Allura smiled. 

“Alright, everyone,” she said. “We’ll be in Kalistor in three vargas.”

 

\---------------

 

Lance returned to his room, changed back into his civvies, and set to work unpacking his supplies. He slid the bag with two metal spikes out of the box in his storage bench and grabbed out some of the other cloth supplies, plunking down on his bed, legs sprawled out haphazardly. Watching the castle punch into the green fog of the debris cloud had been pretty cool… for about five seconds. After that, the screens were just filled with a dull haze, so Lance decided he’d spend his time more effectively by getting to work on his fall projects. Besides, with Lance in his own room, Pidge couldn’t sneak in for a look undetected.

He ran the reddish material through his fingers, pulling and tugging it this way and that, trying to keep count so he wouldn’t lose his place. Lance had always been pretty crafty--a fact made all too clear by Keith’s abysmal showing yesterday at cutting out leaves. _I mean, how hard is a leaf shape, anyway? I practically traced it for him!_ Lance sighed. Something was up with Keith since he got back from the Blade of Marmora. It would have been easy to blame it on a hectic week and the worry about their upcoming showdown with Zarkon. Except, there was the whole part-Galra thing. 

Keith’s face flashed through Lance’s head, that miserable expression as he wore as he refused to meet Allura’s gaze. “Making that stupid face, stupid Mullet,” Lance growled. “What the crowing quiznak does he have to be so moody about? It’s not like _he_ ever tried to take over the cheesing universe!” Lance thought he heard a small beep while he was talking but, so caught up as he was in his annoyance, he didn’t register it until he was finished.

“Uh, Lance?” a voice called through his door, a metallic knocking tapping through it, and he hurriedly stowed the project under his pillow, tossing a blanket over the materials. “The door locks are activated,” Keith called. “Can you let me in?”

“Yeah! Sure thing!” Lance shouted, casting one glance back over his shoulder to be sure the project was sufficiently obscured. He keyed the panel, and the doors swooshed to each side. Keith strode in, his jacket making a soft rustle as he passed.

“What were you swearing incorrectly about, taking over the universe?” Keith mused, and Lance took a few steps inside, placing himself between Keith and the bed just in case. He kicked himself inwardly. _‘Damn your vulcan hearing’_ , thought Lance. 

“Nothing,” he scoffed back at Keith. “What’d’ya come all the way down here for?”

“Shiro asked me to come get you. There’s some power shortages happening throughout the castle. And because of the interference, we haven’t been able to reach Allura and Coran for half an hour.” Lance pursed his lips. 

“I thought power wouldn’t be affected. Why don’t you just go down there and talk to them?”

“Pidge says the field isn’t causing the power issues, and we already tried the bridge. They’re not there. The place is empty.”

“Empty?” Lance didn’t like the sound of _that_. He grabbed his jacket, scrunching his shoulders to let his long arms slide in before activating the doors once more. They swished aside, and Lance followed Keith out into the hallway. It didn’t take long to see what Keith was talking about; the first corner they turned, they met a darkened hallway and Keith frowned, but led them through the shadows. “Is it just me, or is it really… quiet?”

“We can’t run the engines,” Keith reminded him, as they turned right and passed into a dimly lit corridor. “All we have is backup power.”

“Oh, yeah,” Lance remarked, “it’s funny how you get used to something like that. When we first got here, that hum felt like it was ringing through my head twenty-four seven. I couldn’t sleep without headphones for months. Still can’t, sometimes.” Soon they were banking through the open lounge doors. 

“Keith, Lance, I’m glad you made it,” said Shiro, crossing toward them. All three of them were wearing their flight suits still, and Lance felt a little under-dressed. “I take it you didn’t happen to run into Coran or the Princess?”

“No sign of them,” Keith replied, leaning his back against a wall panel just left of the doorway.

“So let me get this straight,” Lance began, opening both hands outward, “we’re coasting through an interference cloud, we’ve got no engines, no comms, and we’re losing backup power. Oh, and two of our friends are missing.” Lance crossed his arms, and tilted his head to the right. “Maybe we should have just taken on the Galra troops after all.”

“Well, we didn’t,” Pidge retorted. “It’s not just that we’re losing power exactly. The sections that lost power all show a power distortion directly in advance of the outage. Something happened to the crystals at each circuit. It looks like something drained it of power.”

“The crystals couldn’t just be drained of power in a system like this,” Hunk said. “They don’t just store or emit power, they produce it. But current is generated at a fixed rate, that’s why they use them for environmentals instead of the engine’s fluctuating current conversion system which allows for varied output.”

“English, please,” Lance pleaded, slumping onto a bench and tossing his left leg up over the back, “or, better yet, Spanish.”

“You know I’m no good at Spanish,” Hunk grumbled. “And trying to talk about engineering in Spanish is even worse.”

“Well, now you know how _I_ feel.”

“Is there anything you can do to restore power?” a disinterested Keith intoned from his place against the wall.

“I’ll try,” said Pidge, “but the crystals themselves are being damaged somehow. Maybe if I had some of my equipment from my room, I might be able to patch in and charge up a line, but it wouldn’t last for long.” 

Blackness surrounded them, and a light whisper of air from the vents sighed its last.

“And we just lost the environmentals,” Pidge declared.

“You think?” Lance quipped.

“Everyone settle down,” Shiro’s voice emitted a gentle boom, commanding attention as it always did. Lance took a breath and sighed, but the darkness was abrasive. The feel of it pressed against his face and arms made him shiver, the ebony darkness of space invading his every sense. A small glow erupted from his side, and Hunk lifted one of his gadgets in the air, its bright screen illuminating the small room. “Good work, Hunk.”

“Y’know, always be prepared and all that,” Hunk beamed. “Pidge, you have anything?”

“I left my laptop in my room,” Pidge moaned. 

“Ugh, this is ridiculous,” Keith grunted, and Lance saw him move toward the doorway. “I’ll go get Pidge’s laptop and I’ll be right back.” Lance jumped up from his lounged position on the seat and leapt between Keith and the door.

“Are you _crazy_?” Lance punctuated the word by slapping his hand against the doorframe, arm threatening to closeline the red paladin. Despite the dim light, Lance’s proximity to Keith’s face allowed him to see the frustration as the dark-haired young man’s brow furrowed. “Do I seriously have to remind you that we’re missing two members of our crew? And you want to walk out into the pitch black alone? What if something happened to them?” Keith’s mouth opened and he sighed.

“Look, it’s fine,” Keith attempted to assure him, “Pidge’s room isn’t far and I can hold onto the wall the whole way there. Is it easy to find?”

“Yeah, just on my bed,” Pidge replied.

“No way, mullet, there is no way I’m letting you go out that door,” Lance pressed, his voice becoming heated.

“I’m sure that Keith will be fine,” Shiro offered, stepping a little closer to the pair. “We need more light if we’re going to make any repairs, and find Coran and Allura. And it’s safer to send Keith than Pidge.”

“I’m sorry, Shiro, I know you’re the leader and all,” he intoned, voice raising in incredulity, “but you’re dead wrong about this. He can’t go out there alone. This is your classic horror movie mistake. You NEVER separate from the group.”

“I’m leaving.” Keith ducked under his arm, striding out into the hallway, but Lance grabbed hold of the back of his jacket and yanked, the red paladin stumbling ungracefully back into the room. 

“Like crow you are!” he shouted.

“That’s not what crow means…” Pidge began, but Lance interrupted.

“If we go anywhere, we should stick together,” Lance suggested. “No one should go off on their own.”

“Alright, Lance,” Shiro soothed, but Lance didn’t appreciate his tone, “then why don’t you go with him?”

“What?” Keith looked at Shiro askance. 

“And have _two_ people of color die in the first ten minutes of the movie?” Lance interjected. “No, thank you.”

“This is not a horror film, Lance,” Keith insisted, turning back toward their intrepid leader. “Shiro, I should go _alone_ right?”

“I’m sorry, Keith, but Lance has a point. Walking around individually is dangerous,” replied Shiro and Keith audibly groaned.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Lance graciously exclaimed with a hand gesturing emphatically in Shiro’s direction, throwing a sideways glance at the red paladin in frustration.

“So you two should go search Pidge’s room together and then return with any devices that run on an alternate power source.” Lance paused. He hadn’t actually agreed to go, had he? Lance peered back at Shiro.

“I did say the people of color die first, right?” 

“Shut up and come on.” Keith grabbed the collar of Lance’s jacket this time, and the blue paladin found himself plunged into the oppressive darkness once more.

 

\---------------

 

The first hallway is always the hardest. 

Shuffling down the corridor outside the lounge, half dragged by the scruff of his neck, Lance nearly tripped over his own feet trying to turn himself to face forward. 

“I can walk by myself, Keith,” Lance chided, a hand still tugging on his collar. “I’ve been doing it for years.”

“Really? Kinda seemed like you were having trouble there at the beginning,” a satisfied voice returned to him from nearby in the dark, and the hand released him. “Thought you might need some motivation.”

“This is just really stupid, man. And we’ve done some pretty stupid things since coming out here.”

“You scared?”

“No! No. I’m not scared. Do you know how many horror flicks I’ve seen? If anyone’s gonna survive, it’ll be me.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about. Oof.” Lance had a split second to wonder what had caused the ‘oof’ before his foot found the wall and his momentum carried him face-first on a collision course. Keith grunted in frustration. “Alright, we turn here.”

“Really? I think we should try to go straight some more.” Lance rubbed his tender nose and turned in the direction of Keith’s voice, where he promptly collided with Keith’s back, launching them both forward onto the floor. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Keith spoke into the floor just to his right and sighed heavily. 

“Sorry, man, I can’t see _anything_ in here.” Lance didn’t know which way was up. He felt something squishy beneath him. He patted out to his right to find Keith, but felt only floor.

“Uhhh… can you get off me please?” 

Lance’s face flushed. He pulled his right hand off what he now realized was Keith’s back, sliding out from between sharp shoulder blades, and his left off of Keith’s muscled arm, lifting himself up from the floor. He heard a shuffle as he assumed Keith followed suit. Keith sighed and Lance felt a tap against his right arm, then it moved a little higher as Keith reached out, patting his way up until he grabbed hold of Lance’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Keith began, “we’re going to try this again. This time I’m not letting go of you. Hold onto my arm.” Lance nodded. And then Lance realized if he couldn’t see himself nod, neither could Keith.

“No problem.” Lance wrapped his right arm up over Keith’s left and the pair felt their way forward through the black, reaching out to the walls on either side to steer their way.

Getting into Pidge’s room wasn’t too bad. For some reason it was unlocked; maybe because of loss of power, Lance assumed. They pressed the heavy doors open by hand. The pair rooted around blindly, stumbling frequently, until Lance found the bed, and Pidge’s laptop nestled in the tousled surface of its sheets. Lance snapped it open.

“Now we’re talking,” he said, the bootup screen brightening the room. “Wow, no wonder I tripped.”

“Pidge kept those trash paladins?” Keith stared, aghast, at the corner full of trash him. Lance chuckled.

“It’s probably easier to talk to than you.”

“I… I talk to Pidge.”

“Sure, Keith, buddy. Whatever you need to tell yourself. Do you see that hand-held sensor thing anywhere? I bet Pidge and Hunk need it to fix the power, and it’ll give us more light.” Keith rummaged around the floor at his feet.

“How does Pidge find anything in here?”

“Every crazy genius type has an organizational system, Keith. We just have to figure out Pidge’s.”

“There is _no_ organization in this room,” Keith refuted with a quick shake of his head. Lance smirked. 

“Well, we’ve got most of the computer things over here, but this is all leisure stuff,” Lance concluded. “Check by the door.” Keith followed the central bar on the floor, leading him to the doorway. He crouched beside it and opened the storage box. 

“Got it,” Keith announced, waving the equipment above his head, and then standing and activating it. “Now let’s get out of here.”

The way back was much smoother, walking through the hallways with the glow of a laptop and a hand-held scanner brandished against the deep dark. When they arrived at the lounge, the doors were still stuck open, but the room was no longer illuminated by the small hand-held device Hunk had produced. Keith halted, holding a hand out to stop Lance. 

“What’s up-” he began, but Keith cut him off.

“Quiet,” he exhaled, locking wide eyes with Lance. 

“Keith... what’s that smell?” Lance whispered with the smallest breath he could manage. There was a pungent metallic odor hanging in the air. Keith looked away, staring at the entrance.

“It smells like blood,” he said in a low voice, launching forward into a run. Lance followed tight at his heels, a quick sloshing sound ringing in his ears as his heart began to pound. Keith splashed into the room, and Lance’s gut clenched as his shoes squelched against the floor, skidding into the room behind Keith. Lance wielded the laptop, targeting its screen in a banking motion across the room.

“Holy crow…” Lance’s brain refused to make sense of the scene in front of him. There was blood streaking across the floor at the entrance, and more sanguine footsteps than his own dashing in mad patterns across the room. Keith crouched, aiming the smaller screen in his left hand, examining the patterns on the floor. He pivoted on the ground, aiming back through the open doorway.

“These footsteps are Hunk’s,” Keith began, tracing his light along the bloodied marks on the floor. “And those smaller ones belong to Pidge.”

“What about Shiro?” Lance asked, and immediately regretted the answer. Keith gave an angry sigh. 

“There are no footsteps for Shiro,” Keith concluded and strode out of the room, slaughterous footsteps splutting through the crimson pool.

Lance pulled himself back out of the peaceful place in the back of his mind it had hidden, forcing his brain forward to focus on the moment. He splashed after Keith.

“What do you mean there are no footsteps for Shiro?” 

“What do you want from me?!” Keith roared, rearing on him until their noses were almost touching. “There are no footsteps for Shiro in the room. Just Hunk, Pidge, and a bunch of drag marks! Okay?”

“You think they dragged him out?” Lance offered, his voice low and as calm as he could manage, though it wavered at the end of his query.

“Did you _see_ how much blood was in there?” Keith seethed. “Either all of them lost a lot of blood or Shiro…” Keith looked away, an angry glare piercing out into the darkness. “And now _I_ have to lead you to safety. This is just _perfect_!”

“Relax, Keith,” Lance pleaded, feeling physically struck by Keith’s dismissal. Lance knew he wasn’t exactly the red paladin’s favorite person, but he wasn’t some helpless kid Keith had to take care of. “Look, I know you’re worried about Shiro-”

“I’m NOT worried about Shiro!” he bellowed.

“Easy, tiger,” quipped Lance. “We just have to figure out what to do next. We know Pidge and Hunk were fine when they walked out of here. We should go in the direction of their footsteps, see if we can meet up and figure out what’s going on. We shouldn’t jump to conclusions until we have all the facts.”

“Ugh! I just wanted a quiet quiznaking afternoon alone. Was that too much to ask for? Crow!” Lance widened his eyes, a blessed smirk crossing his face, his previous terror a forgotten memory.

“You alright, there, buddy? You need a minute?”

“Shut up.” Keith’s sour, half-hearted retort made Lance’s smirk spread to a full-on grin.

“No, seriously, I’m here for you, dude. You need a shoulder to cry on?”

“This is supposed to be serious, Lance,” Keith admonished. “Let’s just go.” 

Lance took a deep breath through his nose, the tang in the air making the muscles of his cheeks scrunch up in disgust. He sighed, his smile dripping away as trudged down the hallway after Keith. 

 

\---------------

 

“Hey, you don’t think…” Lance couldn’t bring himself to say it. The pair followed small blood smears, but they’d lost the trail of footprints as the blood pressed off the soles of Pidge and Hunk’s shoes.

“What?” Keith asked.

“All those things Coran was saying,” Lance continued briefly, trailing off again. Keith stopped short, turning back toward Lance.

“Wait, you’re actually buying that whole interdimensional beast thing?” 

“I don’t know, man. Just look at the facts.” Lance stepped past Keith, examining the wall for clues. “This thing drains power to corporealize; our power is out. It’s supposed to attack ships in the cloud; we have three crew members missing already. I think we need to at least consider the possibility.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in this stuff,” said Keith, scouring the opposite wall for any trace of blood to follow.

“I don’t know. We’re not talking about El Cuco, here. We’re in space, and there’s a lot of weird stuff out here. There’s Altean magic and quintessence and who knows what else?”

“What’s Ku-...whatever-you-said?”

“El Cuco?” Lance inquired. “Oh, it’s the ghost of a guy who locked his disobedient children in a closet. Then his house burned down with them inside. He was cursed, and now he hides in kids’ closets and eats you if you misbehave. You know, ‘El Cuco te va llevar al bosque y comerte si no te comportas.’ ‘Si no te calmas, el Cuco te va ha agarrar’,” he mimicked, raising his voice higher like his own mother barking the warning. “It’s your basic, listen-to-your-parents-or-you’ll-get-eaten story.”

“Huh…” Keith mused. “Kinda like the Boogeyman?”

“Yeah, I guess...” Lance replied. “What’s the Boogeyman supposed to look like, anyway?”

“I don’t know, I guess it looks like whatever. Depends where you’re from or what your parents said.”

“Then yes, it’s like the Boogeyman.” 

Keith sighed. “I don’t see anything that looks like a blood pattern here. I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to do…”

“We’ll figure it out,” Lance assured him, dropping a hand on Keith’s shoulder. A flash of light passed over Keith’s face, and the pair looked around down the hallway, small flickers of light pulsing through the corridor blinking in and out of existence. “Yeah, that’s not at all creepy…”

“Pidge?!” Keith walked forward, and Lance hung onto his shoulder so the red paladin wouldn’t outpace him and go running off on his own again. Lance shifted the laptop to his hip, leaving it open in case it was needed again. “Hunk, is that you two?”

“I don’t think we should be yelling,” Lance muttered. “We don’t know if it’s them.” Keith looked back at Lance. The lights flashed brighter, and Lance caught sight of a silhouette at the end of the hall over Keith’s shoulder. A second flash, and the hallway was empty once more. “Um, Keith? I think we should get out of here.”

“Why?” Keith asked, following Lance’s gaze back over his shoulder. Lance grabbed Keith’s hand, and tugged down a corridor to their right. “Where are we going?”

“Shut up, mullet,” Lance growled under his breath, squeezing Keith’s half-gloved hand tight in his and heaving him forward down the hall. “My room is just down the hall here. We’re picking up a few things.” Keith tried to protest, but Lance hushed him each time, dragging him straight to his door. They pried it open by hand once more, and pushed the doors closed behind them at Lance’s insistence. 

“What’s going on, Lance?” Keith inquired once the doors paired together.

“I can’t believe you didn’t see that thing,” Lance scoffed, crouching inside the door and unpacking the crate carefully. “Are you kidding me? It was huge! Why is the hot-headed protagonist never looking when the sensible one sees the monster?”

“You’re the sensible one?”

“I am in this movie,” Lance continued, pulling out the pair of prongs from their bag. He handed one to Keith. “In case that thing comes for us, so you have a weapon.”

“Are these knitting needles?” Keith look dumbfounded. Lance blushed. 

“I’m… I’m working on my costume, okay? Just because you can’t even cut a leaf out properly--”

“It was the material! It was hard to work with.”

“Which is why mine looked perfect.” Keith’s face soured. “Look, I got it on Chaitar, and it’s no Galra blade, but it’s stronger than steel. At least we’ll have something to protect ourselves with until we get to your room.”

“My room…?” Keith asked.

“To get a _real_ Galra blade.”

“Okay. That makes sense,” Keith replied, and he began reaching for the door. 

“Hang on,” Lance called out, and Keith turned. “I need to change.”

“Right now? You need to change right now?”

“We’re the only two wearing normal clothing, and still someone got hurt. You really want to face whatever that thing is in a black t-shirt?” Keith looked down at his shirt and jacket, appraising them.

“Fine. Change.”

Lance grabbed hold of his suit, then peered back at Keith. “Turn around,” he said.

“Huh?”

“You heard me, turn around. I’m not dressing in front of you.”

“I mean… it’s not like you go commando under the suit,” Keith quibbled, his cheeks coloring in dim light of his hand-held screen. 

“Just do it,” Lance spat, and Keith complied, turning awkwardly toward the closed door.

Once he had his undersuit and armor secured, Lance crossed to the door. Keith chanced a glance at him, and relaxed once he saw Lance was wearing his full getup. Lance grabbed the Olkari cube off the floor and balanced it on the laptop. 

“You’re not wearing your helmet?” asked Keith.

“The comms and scanners don’t work in the interference. There’s no point,” Lance said. “I’d rather be able to see and hear a little.” Keith nodded, and the pair each took half of the door and pushed. Flashes of light pulsed through the crack, and both paladins shared a glance at each other as they wrenched the door open. “I’ll go first. I have armor.”

“For all the good it did Shiro,” Keith remarked. Lance ignored him, stepping out into the hallway, glancing in both directions with the flashes of light. 

As his head was turned down one passageway, however, Keith darted down the hall in the opposite direction. He was halfway down its length before Lance could even draw breath. Lance panicked, but Keith was too far to stop.

“Wait! What are you--” Lance had no opportunity to finish. A light flashed within the hallway, and Lance watched in horror as Keith’s body was ripped down a darkened corridor, plucked roughly and yanked out of sight. Lance brandished the laptop in his direction, hearing more than seeing the small knitting needle clatter to the ground. 

“Keith!!!” 

Lance stepped out, prepared to run after him, but hesitated. Should he follow? What kind of idiot runs out into danger like that? _What is your crowing problem?!_ he thought angrily, his eyes brimming with frustrated tears. _Why would you do crowing do that?!_ Lance took a grudging breath, willing his mind to calm. No. There was no way Keith was dead. Maybe this thing didn’t kill people. There were no bodies left behind in the lounge, just blood. It took them. Yeah. Keith was probably just hurt. 

Venturing out down the passageway, Lance carefully followed in Keith’s footsteps, small flickers of light brightening to show him the needle lying discarded at the mouth of a corridor and dimming again, leaving Lance in the cold emptiness of the space with only the bluish hues of the laptop as a light source. His breath and heartbeat rushed in his ears as he turned the corner. 

Red stains splattered the floor and walls where the red paladin should have been, a fresh set of drag marks streaking the thick hemic mayhem down the hallway. Lance’s breath caught and it wasn’t until his brain’s screams for air grew louder than the other screams in Lance’s head that he inhaled once more. He slumped against the floor, breathing in heaving gasps, struggling to stay quiet as his eyes overrun with silent tears, splattering down onto his armored suit with a soft patter.

 _No. He has to be alive…_ Lance took a deeper breath, and reached out, pulling the hand-held pad from where it had clattered to the ground and hefting it into his left hand. He tried to ignore the wet squish it made against his gloved palm that made him want to retreat into that quiet place in the back of his mind and never return. He closed the laptop, stowing it under his left arm and transferred the Olkari cube to his left hand underneath the pad, taking another breath of the tinny air to steady himself. Lance stood, walking back to his hallway and collecting the second knitting needle, situating both in his right hand. He’d be ready if something came for him next time.

Now he had to find Keith.

 

\---------------

 

He followed the hallways, never turning his back to a hallway with flickering lights. But that meant walking straight through the areas of potential danger. Lance stood poised, ready to fight at every turning of the halls. He glanced back over his shoulder periodically, wary of danger from any angle. He’d lost the trail of blood from Keith’s attack quickly, and the next few hallways were pure instinct, nothing on his mind but surviving a single passageway. He wandered, frantic to find some sign of Keith’s path, but found nothing and aimlessly meandered the passages, unsure of his next move.

Lance turned a corner to a steadily brightened hallway, no flickering lights, and paused, wary of the illuminated corridor. A sudden scuffle from behind him caused Lance to backstep, whipping his head around to see a small white and green mass collide with him, tackling him into the light. Lance gasped, filling his lungs once more.

“Pidge?!” Lance exclaimed breathlessly, and the small heap raised a head of cinnamon hair, glasses reflecting the light of the hallway behind them.

“Lance!” the green paladin exclaimed, but the excitement of the face quickly devolved into fear. “Holy crow, Lance! What the crow? What the actual quiznacking cheese is going on here?”

“Pidge, calm down! What happened to the others? Where is Hunk?”

“I don’t know! We got separated running from… _whatever_ that thing is!”

“Look, Pidge… I lost Keith,” Lance said, his stomach dropping and Pidge’s face matched him. 

“It… it got him?”

“I don’t know,” Lance insisted, eyes downcast as Pidge lifted up off his chest. “There wasn’t as much blood as the lounge.”

“Holy crow, the lounge,” Pidge moaned and continued lamely, “You got my laptop.” 

“What _happened?_ ” Lance asked, lifting himself into a sitting position and handing the laptop over to Pidge.

“I don’t know. It was just… _there_ all of the sudden! It came out of nowhere and it went for me. And then Shiro, he… Shiro tried to fight it off…” Pidge’s face paled.

“Is Shiro-”

“Look, we have to get out of here,” Pidge shouted, hopping up to a standing position and yanking on Lance’s arm so hard he thought his shoulder would have popped out of its socket if it was not secure in the suit. “I powered up the lights in this hallway, but it won’t last long. C’mon!” Pidge yanked and tugged, and Lance followed the younger paladin down the path.

“What about Keith?” Lance asked, as they settled near the entrance of a dark corridor. Pidge popped open a panel, opened the laptop, and plucked a wire out of a slot at the suit’s belt, connecting the laptop to the damaged console. “I thought this thing drained the power?”

“No, Hunk was right, they weren’t drained. It’s more like the frequency of energy destabilized. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize the field could do this when we entered.”

“Maybe it’s not the field,” Lance offered.

“You think that thing is doing this?”

“Maybe that’s why you didn’t detect it before. Maybe it was only able to mess with the ship when we got close enough.” There was a gentle hum as the lights in the nearby hallway activated. Lance scoped it out as Pidge disconnected the laptop, and then they proceeded down it. 

“Hunk!” Pidge called out as they walked down the bright corridor. 

“Don’t yell,” Lance chided. “Do you want to bring that thing right to us?”

“It’s an interdimensional psycho killer, Lance,” Pidge replied sarcastically. “You think it targeted us based on sound waves?”

“Weirder things have happened,” Lance defended. “You watched a lot of horror films, though, right? You know better than to call attention to yourself. Even Keith was quiet when he was with me.” Lance pushed the thought away before he lost control again, burying it deep below his stomach. As they approached the next darkened hallway, the lights began to flicker. The pair froze. They heard footsteps coming their direction.

“Hunk?” Lance called. 

“Lance?!” Hunk called out, his voice closer now. Lance sprinted forward, turning left to see Hunk’s form running his direction. The lights flashed. 

The figure stood in the distance. 

“Hunk, run!” Lance called, jumping forward, knitting needles at the ready as he darted down the hallway. The lights flashed again. The figure was moving toward Hunk fast. It was going to reach him first! Lance pressed himself past whatever limits he thought he had. “Aaahh!!”

A flicker of light flashed as Hunk was wrenched from the floor into the creature’s grasp. It was tall, dwarfing Hunk by several feet, shrouded in a dark cloak with pale three-pronged claws that Lance could see in the flash were covered in blood. _Allura’s? Coran’s? Shiro’s?_

_Keith’s..?_

Lance held the cube in his hand. “Come get me!” he shouted into it and sent it flying back beyond the figure. The cube boomed out, parroting his cry behind the figure, which turned briefly in surprise. In the opening, Lance swiped at the hands with his needles, but it barely scratched the surface of the thick skin. The creature knocked him hard back against the wall and the hall went dark. Lance heard Hunk scream and a horrible ripping sound pierced the darkness. Lance felt wetness spray against his cheeks. The tussle moved away from the winded Lance, and the hall fell into silence, the once-flashing lights holding steady in darkness. A dim glow came up behind him and set the pools of dark vermillion aglow. Hunk was gone. 

“Lance!” Pidge gasped, sliding to the ground where he’d fallen. Lance lifted a hand to his right cheek, scraping at the wetness on his face. Pulling his hand in front of his eyes, he saw the smears of vital fluid pooling in the creases of his fingers. “Lance, are you hurt?”

“It’s not my blood,” Lance offered weakly. Pidge helped him stand, and he found his needle.

“Holy crow. Holy quiznaking crow!” Pidge exclaimed. “Lance, we have to get out of here.”

“No.” He hadn’t meant to bark at the younger paladin, but he was done. He was done watching people get hurt. “I’m not going anywhere, Pidge. If you want, I’ll help you get to a shuttle. I’ll push the cheesing thing out of the castle if I have to. But I’m not leaving until I find the others.”

“Are you kidding me?” Pidge shouted. “There’s no way he survived. There’s nothing to find, for any of them.”

“No, I can’t believe that.” Lance shook his head.

“What?’ Pidge watched him in shock. “Why not?”

“I know they’re alive, Pidge,” Lance insisted. 

“After all we’ve seen, you think they’re still alive?” Pidge shouted. “Look, you and I need to re-group. We have to get out of here RIGHT NOW!!!” The green paladin grasped his arm and tugged, but Lance refused to budge. “How do you know they’re alive?”

“Because they _have_ to be! Because how could we have come all this way, fighting the Galra, taking on Zarkon, just to die in some stupid cloud in the middle of nowhere? Because how are we supposed to save the universe without them? Because they just have to be alive!!” Lance bellowed. Holy crow, he was that guy in the movie who got freaked out and yelled and led the monster right to them. Lance peered around, looking for any sign of flashing lights. Nothing.

“I’m…” Pidge trailed off, tears brimming behind those round glasses, “I’m really sorry, Lance. I’m really sorry. I…”

“It doesn’t matter even if they weren’t,” Lance continued, his jaw clenched, pulling his arm from Pidge’s grasp and placing it on the paladin’s shoulder. “The answer’s the same either way.” He looked squarely into those amber eyes. “Do you want me to get you out of here first?”

“Of course not!” Pidge nearly shouted, fists clenching as arms folded across a thin frame. “I’m sticking with you to the end!”

“Okay, then,” Lance replied with a determined grin, walking in the direction Hunk had disappeared.

“Where are you going?!”

“The bridge. I’m getting my bayard.”

“If you try to use a bayard, you’ll blow yourself to smithereens.”

“Then I’ll take it down with me,” Lance concluded, and Pidge’s eyes widened. “Come on, Pidge. We’re gonna hunt this thing down and find our friends.”

 

\---------------

 

Pidge made quick work of each passage and they took a direct route to the bridge. The final hallway was bright and Lance strode toward it without fear. Well, not entirely without fear; he was worried he was wrong. He was worried he’d made a horrible choice, brought Pidge along to die with him. He was worried that he might be wrong about his friends being alive. He was afraid that a small part of him was starting to believe they weren’t. But he wasn’t afraid of what he was about to do. No, for all the fears tumbling through his brain, Lance was perfectly calm about that one decision. 

He’d hit it. He’d scratched it. It could be harmed. It was corporeal. And if he could scratch it once, he could do it again. He could do worse. 

Approaching the door, the lights behind him began to flicker. He peered back over his shoulder, spying a figure at the end in a flash of light. The next flicker showed it speeding toward the pair. Lance grasped Pidge’s small hand, roughly schlepping the green paladin toward the door, veritably dragging Pidge the last few feet and tossing the small form through the entrance.

“The doors!” Lance yelled, leaning into one side, which barely budged even with the pure adrenaline coursing through his veins. There was no way tiny Pidge could match that, and even his half wouldn’t be closed in time. He gripped the needles in his hand tightly. A flash revealed the form was halfway down the hall.

“The pad!” Pidge yelled frantically. Lance’s left hand tightened against the pad and he tossed it without question. Pidge caught it deftly, holding it to the panel and the doors slammed shut in a flurry of air. Lance breathed, and he heard Pidge sigh. The room was dark, and Pidge pointed the pad outward to illuminate their path to Coran’s station. 

“How long will it take you to reactivate the bayards?” Lance asked, approaching the panel. The light cast down revealed an empty workspace. “Um, Pidge? Where are the bayards?”

“I don’t know,” Pidge replied. The pair jumped as a crash echoed through the dark room.

“Pidge? You don’t think…” Lance whispered, but heard no answer. The small screen glowed gently on Pidge’s face. He saw the fear in that youthful face, fear plastered as both face and screen were ripped away, tossed carelessly against a wall, colliding with a wall of supply boxes that crumpled beneath the force of the impact.

“Pidge!” 

Lance ducked behind the console, dodging a swipe from those deadly claws. No bayards. His only weapon’s primary function was making sweaters and hats. The creature growled in the darkness, and Lance used that noise to gauge its position, guiding him away. He crouched as he ran the distance to Pidge’s side. Reaching to lift the small figure, he felt the wet, sticky liquid in the paladin’s hair, another set of fingers settling on Pidge’s neck. There was still a heartbeat, but Pidge was badly hurt. Lips pursed, Lance grabbed the hand-held and waved it in the direction of the creature, backing against the door.

“Alright, you quiznacking piece of crow,” Lance goaded. There was no reason not to. What was the point of playing it safe now? “Just me, now. _Come and get me!!_ ” 

Lance brandished the needles, and the creature stepped forward curiously. Each step it took brought it closer to Lance, but somehow it didn’t look any closer. Something was happening to the hooded form as it strode towards Lance. It was… _shrinking?_

The beast’s height lowered down to his own, standing more upright with each footfall. Soon the three-pronged claws dangled off its pale arms, which grew steadily darker in color, and eventually fell revealing soft skin below. The delicate arms lifted the hood and pulled at its head, removing…

Removing _a mask_.

A cascade of glorious alabaster hair flowed out over the back of the lowered hood.

“A-... Allura?!” Lance cried. He couldn’t even tell what he was seeing. In a moment, his vision was flooded as the bridge lights brightened the room. 

The bridge doors opened behind him, and Lance whipped his head so hard it almost cricked his neck. Through the entrance walked Shiro, Hunk, and Coran. To the right of the doors, Pidge stirred, opening those amber eyes and lifting that tiny form from the floor. Just beyond the trio Keith waltzed up to the door, leaning against the door frame in that stupid, beautiful red jacket.

“Wha-” Lance began, but just exhaled the rest of the breath.

“It was _my_ idea,” Pidge admitted. “Well, we were all talking yesterday about horror films, and Allura and Coran asked me more about them after lunch, and I thought it might be fun to put one on.”

“Except, you said you’d sleep through a horror film if we had one,” Hunk offered. “So we thought it might be fun to up the stakes a bit.”

“‘Up the stakes’?” Lance asked. “You’re kidding, right?”

“We’re sorry things got so out of hand,” Allura offered. “We had to improvise quite a few parts of the original script.”

“Yeah, we worried things were going off the rails right from the beginning,” Shiro admitted. “You refused to let Keith leave.”

“I was supposed to die first,” Keith admitted. “And then leave the rest to everyone else.”

“But you absolutely wouldn’t let him go alone,” Pidge said with a grin. Lance wasn’t comfortable with that grin, and he squinted his eyes at the green paladin. 

“I really am sorry about that,” Shiro offered. “We were supposed to be picked off one by one in a group from there, but you ended up on your own most of the time. I had to do something or it would be over before it started.”

“I got the next stage ready as quickly as I could,” Pidge pleaded. “I didn’t mean to leave you alone so long after Keith. I had some problems with the remote for the lightshow.”

“I’m pretty impressed, buddy, I gotta tell you,” Hunk said, “you were kinda awesome, the way you leapt after me. How’d you like my death scene, though? Pretty sweet, right?”

“Are you kidding me?” Lance bellowed. “I seriously thought you might be dead, you jerk.”

“Consider it payback for the Moira Incident,” Hunk said enigmatically, and Lance’s eyes widened. 

“The what?” Shiro asked.

“Nothing,” Lance covered, “No one. Everything’s fine.” This was pretty low, but… he had gotten Hunk pretty bad back at the garrison...

“Using the Olkari Cube to distract me was a stroke of brilliance,” Allura offered. “Though I could have done without the scratch.”

“Oh crow!” Lance cried out, eyes widening. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“The gloves were damaged more than anything. It barely broke the skin,” Allura assured him with a gentle smile. “It’ll be healed in no time.”

“That’s why we took your bayard away at the beginning,” Shiro said. “We had to make sure no one would get seriously injured in the process. We’ve all become pretty deadly in our time out here.”

“Yeah, but who knew you had knitting needles in your room?” Keith mused.

“I am a man of many talents, mullet!” Lance fumed. 

“It’s good to know we have such a resourceful crew,” Shiro beamed at the paladins, “all of you working together to keep up the facade after it started falling apart at the seams. And Lance, that fight with Allura in the dark with nothing but an Olkari cube and some needles… that was impressive.” 

“And going after the bayards, sacrificing yourself like that?” Keith began, “that was pretty gutsy.”

Lance blushed at the praise. But his head was reeling from all the information he’d just been given, desperately trying to make sense of everything being said, attempting to remember his interactions during their ruse. His brain hurt from the deceit and the fear, and receiving recognition from these two after this whole horror show just made his head ache. Lance felt like a nap would do him good. In fact, he vowed not leave his bed for a week.

“How did Allura get in the room with the doors closed?”

“Pidge spent some time with me on the training deck,” Keith said, “and programmed one of the sparring bots to complete some pre-determined motions.”

“So, there’s no interference field either, is there?”

“Yeah, our engines work fine,” Pidge replied, walking to the green station, hair still matted with fake blood, and pulling up a schematic of the cloud. “We can pull out of it at any time. We didn’t even need to come this way. But where’s the fun in that?”

“Alright,” Lance sneered, “Ha ha. Very funny. Good prank, everyone. I mean, I was sure this was your typical slasher or monster movie. But no, it’s ‘April Fool’s Day’.”

“You figured it out!” Pidge answered excitedly but, seeing Lance’s weary face, immediately looked down guiltily. Lance reluctantly offered a hand, which Pidge gratefully slapped with a gentle smile.

“Alright, team, time to clean up all the fake blood,” Shiro called.

“Oh, man, this is my least favorite part,” Hunk groaned. 

“I’m not cleaning this up!” Lance protested. “You know what you just put me through, right? What the cheese?”

“I think you used that one right this time,” Pidge said, and Lance released an exasperated sigh that was caught somewhere near his heart, but it didn’t release the tightness.

“You’re absolutely right,” Shiro agreed. “This was our idea, and we really put you through the ringer. We’ll take care of it. You just relax, Lance.”

“Ugh,” Keith grunted, kicking away from the doorframe and heading out into the hall. “I didn’t even want to do this stupid prank.”

“That’s alright, Keith,” Shiro said. “I know we promised you wouldn’t have to participate for long, and then you got roped into the biggest part. Why don’t you hit the training deck?”

“Really?” Keith asked.

“Oh, come on!” Hunk protested, visibly deflating. Pidge looked dumbstruck.

“Let’s go Pidge, Hunk,” said Shiro, and lead the grumbling paladins out of the bridge. 

“I think I’m gonna get some shut-eye,” Lance said.

“I hope you enjoyed the horror film,” Coran said, deflating a bit as he continued. “You seemed so excited at lunch, but as it went through… Well, it wasn’t _too_ frightening, was it?”

“Nah,” Lance blustered, “it was fine, thanks.” 

“You’re very welcome,” a clueless Allura grinned. Lance chuckled nervously, an eyebrow raised in worry. He hoped she didn’t mistake his gracious acceptance of Coran’s apology as actual enjoyment of this secret horror prank. _Man, those were the longest hours of my life…_ “We’ll be at Kalistor in 40 doboshes.” Lance sighed, striding out through the bridge doors and soon found himself shoulder-to-shoulder with Keith. 

“So you didn’t want in on this?” Lance inquired, shoulder arm bumping against Keith’s as he walked. 

“Well, I do enjoy any opportunity to make fun of you,” Keith pondered, “but no, not really. It kinda seemed a little overboard, especially once things snowballed. Besides, things have just been… really hectic lately.”

“Yeah,” Lance agreed. “So…” Lance brought his right hand up to his neck, scratching anxiously, “I kinda thought you were really dead just now.”

“Yeah,” Keith began, tossing a sideways glance his way, lips pursed and twisted slightly. “Sorry about that.”

“I… I want you to know, I’m really glad you’re not dead, Keith,” Lance managed to utter, gazing away from Keith to his right. In his peripheral vision, he saw Keith turn to take in his expression. Lance looked back, locking eyes with Keith for a moment, but Keith whipped his head forward, so Lance looked forward, too. “Let’s just… not do that again, okay?” Keith nodded.

“Yeah. That sounds good.” They walked in silence for a span of a few steps before Keith took a sharp breath in. “So… what are you knitting with-”

“Don’t even think about it,” Lance replied, eyes squinting. Keith smirked.

“Alright, I get it,” he replied

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep after this,” Lance stated. “Seriously, that was just messed up.”

“Well, if the headphones don’t work,” Keith offered, “just let me know. Don’t worry. Things will work themselves out.” Keith smiled, his face relaxing all the way to his amaranthine eyes. Lance returned the smile and the pair strode off through the now peaceful paths of the Castle of Lions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The next chapter will be up by October 21st.
> 
> A big thank you to GlassAlice for the editing assist. She's also releasing a fic today, so you should read it! And you can [follow her on Tumblr!](http://yuzuling.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can [follow me on Tumblr](http://starbuck-7.tumblr.com/), too, if you like.


	3. A Song of Ice and Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro felt the controls, shifted dials and toggles to achieve optimum resonance. It was nothing like flying Black. Nothing could ever compare to the synchronicity, that feeling of some kind of consciousness other than your own tickling at the back of your mind. He was a pilot long before becoming a paladin of Voltron, and he remembered the mechanics of it, but what had once brought him elation was… _mundane_ by comparison. If he’d told his younger self that one day he’d find flying a shuttle routine and unimpressive, that younger self would have flicked him between the eyebrows and called him bakayarou.
> 
> The flight path had been chosen by Coran, and Shiro followed it closely, since the planet’s rotation was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. He could… almost _see_ it turning. Perhaps it was just his imagination.
> 
> “So, our exciting space adventure will only be able to last two vargas, I’m afraid,” Coran was telling the younger paladins, filed along the walls in the back of the shuttle, strapped down on a pair of benches facing each other.
> 
> “Aww,” Pidge moaned. “What’s the point of going for only two vargas?”
> 
> \-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the third installment of a weekly prompts fic. Due to the switching POV, they do stand alone pretty well. The whole fic fits between Blade of Marmora and the Belly of the Weblum. I was given five prompts from the Voltron Amino, one for each week of October, and for some reason I thought it would be brilliant to string them together sequentially, and although I still maintain that it's the most amazing thought to be thunk in the history of prompts (slight exaggeration), it's also maybe the most stressful thing I've ever done. Anyway, this week's topic is Autumn on an alien planet. ENJOY!

“We are officially approaching the Kalistorian system,” Coran’s voice echoed through the hallways of the Castle of Lions. Shiro’s head perked up at the sound. He hadn’t realized how long it had been. Not that he knew how long it was supposed to take precisely. Shiro had only a loose command of Altean time slices and how they related to their own time measurements. He ended up chanting ‘One Mississippi Tick, Two Mississippi Tick’ to get a close approximation of the Altean version of a second; at least doboshes were the same number of ticks as minutes were to seconds. Shiro did a lot of counting in battles and on missions; math had always been his strongest area. Of course, when it came to Altean technology and calculations he mostly left it to Pidge and Hunk. 

“I will be staying with the castle while you visit the Kalistorian forests,” Allura’s voice reverberated through the halls. “Coran will meet you all in the hangar in five doboshes as your guide. I hope you have a thrilling time on the surface, paladins.”

“Does that mean we’re done now?” Pidge inquired, scrubbing the floor of the lounge on hands and knees. 

“Yeah,” Hunk interjected from the couch area, wiping a stripe of foam across its surface. “I don’t want to miss the landing party.”

Shiro wiped the remaining red stains from the doorframe using a strip shaved down from the leftover foam cubes they had bartered to the Chaikari. They were hyper-absorbent and the structure of the molecules could be modified to react to only certain chemical compositions. It hadn’t taken much time before Pidge and Hunk had programmed them to swallow up only the fake blood they had splashed around the castle.

There were still signs of their horror prank staining bits of the hallways, but the lounge had been the worst area by far, the scene of Shiro’s own fake death. Shiro grimaced a bit. It had been all in good fun, or that’s what he believed when Pidge had suggested staging a live horror film experience for Lance. And it looked at first like Lance had really gotten into it. So much so, he’d foiled their plans immediately by not allowing Keith to go off on his own. So they’d had to improvise. 

Pidge ramped up the gore in the various stages of Lance’s adventure to sell the bit after that initial obstacle but, in the collective zeal to make their slapdash plan B work, the other paladins had failed to recognize how the scenes looked from Lance’s perspective. Luckily, Lance seemed to have come through it alright. But Shiro worried all the “team building” Lance and Keith had insisted on for their fall lunch had been undone by the prank. He’d have to focus on rebuilding trust between the younger paladins before the impending assault on Zarkon’s forces, particularly between Lance and Pidge. 

“Yeah, we’re all done here,” answered Shiro. He’d take care of the rest when they got back from Kalistor. There wasn’t much left to do, and they all deserved a break. Besides, sometimes he needed time alone, and doing something with his hands, moving around, would preoccupy his brain. “Come on, let’s get down to the bay.”

“I want to check on Lance first,” Pidge exclaimed, hopping up and making a move for the door. Shiro considered for a split second. He was sure Pidge wanted to apologize, but Pidge was also prone to speaking whatever was in that genius brain without thinking about possible repercussions. Shiro wondered if the youngest Holt might be too inexperienced to give a proper apology without further alienating Lance. Best let it wait until Lance had calmed down a bit, and Shiro could supervise the exchange, maybe even chat with the blue paladin himself separately first. 

“That’s alright, Pidge, you and Hunk head down to the hangar. I’ll check on Lance and Keith and meet you there.”

“Um…alright,” Pidge replied begrudgingly, a disappointed twist pulling at the corner of the green paladin’s mouth. 

“Yes! Finally! We’re outta here…” said Hunk, and he dropped a hand on Pidge’s shoulder, steering them both out into the hallway, chatting about what they would find on the planet below. 

Shiro made his way through the hallways, mentally marking areas that still contained loose spatters of blood trail--that which had lead Lance through the castle to his next destination--so he could take care of them after the voyage. It made sense to let the others off the hook; Pidge may have added the extra gore, but all the paladins were his responsibility. Which is why he wanted a private word with Lance.

A private word was not in the cards for Shiro, as he heard a familiar voice resounding through the corridors long before he arrived, blasting far around the corners and echoing to Shiro’s ears.

“Come on, Lance, we’re already at Kalistor,” Keith insisted. “The others are probably waiting for us.”

“No,” a petulant cry shouted from the room. “I’m not going with you people anywhere. You’re probably going to do a Blair Witch thing on the planet.”

“There’s no Blair Witch thing, Lance,” Keith insisted, dryly. 

“Fine, Cabin in the Woods, then,” Lance countered. 

“We’re not going to do that, Lance,” Keith replied testily, fire in his voice. “I didn’t want to do the first one, remember? Besides, I told you I wouldn’t... die on you again. I would tell you if they were planning something like that.” Lance seemed to consider this.

“Alright,” Lance pronounced slowly, his next words speeding out of his mouth almost imperceptibly fast, “but if any of you goes Friday the 13th on me, I swear to quiznak--”

“Would you just put on the suit already!?!” Keith shouted, hands raised up in front of him in exasperation.

“He-hey,” Lance chuckled, continuing in a silky tone, “you alright, there, mullet? Not like you to lose your cool like that.” Keith sighed.

“Are you coming, or aren’t you?” He spoke in an even tone, voice betraying none of his prior frustration.

“Everything alright here?” Shiro queried from just outside the doorway. Keith’s body tightened, and he angled his gaze over his left shoulder at Shiro, turning his body to greet him. Lance really riled him up, he noted. Keith didn’t even hear him coming. Shiro wasn’t worried about his training, though. No one gave Keith tunnel vision like Lance. “Trying to wake Lance up?”

“Oh, he’s awake,” Keith complained, “but he’s refusing to get dressed.”

“I am not!” Lance shouted, leaping out of bed and crossing the room swiftly with two strides of his long legs, shoulders pressing forward, face scrunched. In a moment, Keith and Shiro were ousted from the room, the doors swishing shut behind them. 

“Well, that should motivate him,” Keith mused. Shiro considered the red paladin, wondering if his words had been deliberate. It did seem Keith knew exactly what buttons to push to irk the blue paladin.

“He _seems_ better,” Shiro intoned in a much lower voice once the doors were closed.

“He’s fine,” Keith replied, and turned his back to the door, leaning against it.

“Did he sleep at all in between?” Shiro offered. “Was he awake when you came here?”

“Look, he doesn’t need anyone to lecture him,” Keith offered. “Just give him some time and he’ll figure it out on his own.”

“Are you sure?”

“I talked to him afterward, okay?” Keith said. “Trust me.”

“I do,” Shiro declared. “Alright, I’ll leave this one to you. If you’re going to lead this team one day, you’ll need to learn to handle situations like these on your own.”

“That’s not going to happen, Shiro,” Keith chided, a now-familiar echo of his usual dismissal. “You’re the leader, here. But I’ll support you any way I can.” 

_I’m not worried about what will happen to me, Keith,_ thought Shiro, grimacing, an expression missed by his counterpart who was glancing down the hall. _I’m worried about what’s_ already _happened to me._

At that moment, Lance emerged. Keith’s passing comment had riled him up and Shiro was shocked at how quickly the young pilot had changed outfits, but his face wasn’t angry now. Lance’s lips pursed more than smiled, a caricature of his normal smirk. His steps were slower, his shoulders unnecessarily taut, right arm wrapped tightly around his helmet as he pulled it toward his side. Keith and Shiro both frowned at him, but it was Shiro who noticed the sight that had knocked the boy off balance.

“Looks like our prank has stained your armor a bit,” Shiro said, and reached to his belt, drawing out a small strip of foam. He passed it over the splatters and smears near the neck and chestplate of Lance’s suit. Clearly Lance had made attempts to remove the substance, but as it was not real blood but rather a creation of--what had Lance called it? ‘Hunk’s kitchen chemistry lab’?--the thickened red viscous fluid did not dry or congeal in the same way. With Shiro’s help, it wiped off the surface immediately. Lance took a deep breath, his signature lopsided grin dominating his face once more.

“Hey! I guess holding back a few cubes worked out after all,” Lance beamed, lips pulled tightly and unnaturally against his flawless teeth.

“Good as new,” said Shiro, a twinge of regret tugging at his stomach. He saw the look in Lance’s eyes as he exited his bedroom. He’d seen that look in the _mirror_ , that haunting shadow of a face desperately pulling itself into some paper mache version of itself. Even when he scrambled at his memories to lay hold of something, anything tangible and met only wisps of fog, still an ache, a fear, a terror clawed at him from inside. For Shiro it didn’t matter that he couldn’t remember, his body remembered it, felt the horror, and it pressed at him to release it. Shiro took a breath, pushing down on a tightness building in his gut and regaining his composure. 

He didn’t wish that fate on anyone, and Shiro hoped Lance wouldn’t succumb to it the way he had. Somewhere inside, Shiro knew it was already too late for him. Like Izanami, he had eaten the food of Yomi, and there was no returning to the land above. Shiro prayed that it was still early enough for Lance.

“Yeah, I guess it was Lance’s idea to keep them, huh,” Keith offered. “Well, we should probably get to the ship.”

“Let’s go, then,” Shiro directed, leading the pair of paladins down the empty corridors to meet their friends.

 

\---------------

 

Shiro felt the controls, shifted dials and toggles to achieve optimum resonance. It was nothing like flying Black. Nothing could ever compare to the synchronicity, that feeling of some kind of consciousness other than your own tickling at the back of your mind. He was a pilot long before becoming a paladin of Voltron, and he remembered the mechanics of it, but what had once brought him elation was… _mundane_ by comparison. If he’d told his younger self that one day he’d find flying a shuttle routine and unimpressive, that younger self would have flicked him between the eyebrows and called him bakayarou.

The flight path had been chosen by Coran, and Shiro followed it closely, since the planet’s rotation was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. He could… almost _see_ it turning. Perhaps it was just his imagination.

“So, our exciting space adventure will only be able to last two vargas, I’m afraid,” Coran was telling the younger paladins, filed along the walls in the back of the shuttle, strapped down on a pair of benches facing each other.

“Aww,” Pidge moaned. “What’s the point of going for only two vargas?”

“Well, we could stay longer, I suppose, but we’d most likely freeze to death,” Coran replied thoughtfully.

“I’m sorry,” Lance began, his voice raising in pitch exponentially as he spoke, “what was that last part again?”

“Whoa, guys,” Pidge’s fingers flew over a hand-held control screen, pulling up a thermo scan of the planet, “I’m getting pretty intense temperature fluctuations, here.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Coran continued. “As I was saying, Kalistor has a rotational pattern that allows it to complete a quintant in less than eight vargas.”

“Whoa,” Hunk and Pidge spoke breathlessly.

“Seriously?” Hunk asked. “So why is it dangerous to to stay more than two vargas, though?”

Coran twirled his mustache as he explained, “Well, it also happens to have a unique composition in its upper boromo-field.”

“Which we’re about to pass through,” Shiro deadpanned.

“Right, then,” Coran undid his restraints and they zipped back into the wall. He bounded up to Shiro’s right, wedging himself between Shiro and Keith and pressed a few screens. “Princess Allura, can you hear me?”

“Yes, of course, Coran,” Allura replied. “What is it?”

“We are about to travel through the boromo-field, and will lose all communications from here on. We will contact you again in two vargas.”

“I’ll start the ticker,” Allura said. “I hope you enjoy Kalistor.”

“Thank you, Princess,” Shiro replied. The comm visuals disappeared from the HUD, and Shiro began their descent, pressing steeply through the upper atmosphere as Coran had instructed. He was right, reentry was hot. Or just ‘entry’, he mused. Shiro fingered controls for internal dampeners, as Coran was tossed into the back with the trio of underaged paladins with a chorus of “oof”s and “hey”s as the un-belted paladins tumbled off their seats. The internal environment eased with the aid of the dampeners, but Shiro still had difficulty punching through. Keith came to his aid, adjusting dials as naturally as breathing. Shiro smiled, Keith was born to fly, just like him. 

“Alright,” Shiro continued. “We’re through.”

“This is your captain speaking,” Lance parroted in a low voice; it was smooth, but the words were overly annunciated, what Shiro assumed was a mock of his own voice, though he couldn’t hear the resemblance. “We may experience some slight turbulence on our descent to Kalistor. Please stay in your seats until the “No Seatbelt” sign is indicated. Thank you for flying Air Voltron.”

“Didn’t know you needed a warning,” Keith drolled from the co-pilot’s seat with a smirk. “Next time we’ll get you a pillow and a snack, too.”

“No one asked you to be my flight attendant, mullet,” Lance spat. “Though I can imagine a few people I wouldn’t mind seeing in a classic stewardess outfit. Maybe it’s not too late to make a costume for Allura for Halloween. She can get my seat back and tray table into the upright and locked position any day.”

“Ugh, can it, Lance,” Pidge groaned.

“Yeah, man. _Seriously_.” Shiro could actually hear Hunk shake his head as he spoke, and from his side he saw Keith frown, lips pulled together in frustration.

“Quiet down, everyone,” Shiro said, guiding the shuttle toward the coordinates. Through the HUD, they saw the first look at Kalistor, and the only word for it was _vibrant_. There was a collective gasp, as the underage paladins pressed forward to the cockpit to get a closer look.

“Wow,” Keith joined in, and Shiro couldn’t blame them. He was speechless himself. 

It wasn’t exactly a rainbow, but every possible color combination was represented. The soil appeared to be a dusky cambridge blue, and from it sprouted bushes and trees of vibrant reds and purples, their pistachio and malachite trunks reaching out in spiral patterns. As they shuttlecraft approached his approved landing site--a clearing in a grove of emerald trees adorned in mauve clusters, Shiro noticed a thin layer of fog was spread over the whole breadth of the planet. Their descent churned it up, revealing the bright cerulean soil underneath.

After a quick check of the exterior environmental viability sensors, Shiro laid down the rear hatch. A burst of warm air pressed in from the back of the shuttle.

“Wait, it’s supposed to be autumn,” Pidge moaned. 

“Yeah, why is it so hot?” Hunk inquired. “I don’t know if we didn’t describe fall correctly or something, but this is definitely not what we meant.”

“Yes, well, you keep interrupting me, don’t you?” a testy Coran replied. “It’s like dealing with a pack of baby Jilsnap.” No one bothered to ask what a Jilsnap was. “The planet has wide temperature fluctuations based on its close position to the sun. The thick boromo-field, however, protects the planet from the star’s radiation, and allows life to thrive. Although the temperature differential through the course of eight vargas has created some spectacular plants.”

“So, the planet will rotate away from the sun so quickly that by the time it’s night it’ll basically be winter,” Hunk surmised.

“So, we’re in summer right now,” Pidge said. 

“The two varga timeframe encompasses all livable conditions on the planet,” Coran confirmed. “If we stay the full two, we’ll get to see three of your seasons.” Pidge smiled. 

“Cool,” remarked the youngest paladin.

“Not yet, I’m afraid,” Coran replied. “Oh, right, one of your expressions. Yes, very _cool_ , number five.” Shiro set the shuttle into standby and stood in time to see Coran strike a pose, one hand on his forehead, the other on his hip. 

“Well, paladins?” Shiro began, “you ready to see fall in the Kalistorian forests?”

 

\---------------

 

“How much longer do we have until autumn?” Pidge moaned. “It’s too hot to be outside.”

“Don’t be such a wuss, Pidge,” Lance said. “Can’t be more than thirty doboshes before it starts getting cool by your standards,” Lance said. “Cuban fall will arrive in T-minus _ten_ doboshes.”

“How do you figure?” an incredulous Pidge demanded.

“Well it’s, what, about thirty-five degrees?”

“What?” Hunk exclaimed, “It’s gotta be at least ninety!”

“He means celsius, Hunk,” Keith offered. 

“Thirty-five celsius is about ninety-five fahrenheit,” Shiro added, glad to have a reason to do some calculations, and yet surprised to be the first to complete them. “So if we say humans can withstand up to minus fifteen celsius...”

“We’ll lose almost a full degree every two minutes,” Pidge concluded.

“In fahrenheit that’s about four degrees every five minutes,” Shiro added and smiled down at an impressed Pidge.

“Who cares about all that?” Lance asked, “Would you look at this place?” 

Shiro paused to take in the sights. He and his quintet of colleagues had immediately plunged themselves into the forests, weaving between the green trunks. Shiro gazed up at the pinkish tinge of the white flowers topping the branches of the closest tree. The blossoms were thick, a bit like the flesh of a venus fly trap, and they seemed to have unravelled themselves for the occasion. In fact, the whole spectacular planet seemed harder than any he had set foot on, from the boromo-field down to the surface. A small insect of some kind zoomed up to the flower, and Shiro’s eyes widened as the blossom whipped itself in, spiraling back into a tight rod and trapping the bug inside. Apparently it was _exactly_ like a venus fly trap.

“Did you just see that?” Keith remarked, pointing to the exact spot

“Isn’t this place great?” Lance exclaimed with a laugh, rushing off with Pidge and Hunk, kicking up wisps as they strode through the under fog.

“Where are you going?” Shiro called after the trio. It was really so much easier if they stayed together. He was responsible for all four of them.

Pidge turned back cupping both hands around a wide-open mouth yelling, “I hear running water!” before spinning back and breaking into a run with the others, shoulders and head dipping down out of sight below the horizon.

“C’mon, Keith!” Lance’s voice echoed, the young man himself nowhere to be seen. “Coran! Shiro!”

“Well, they are quite an excitable group aren’t they?” said Coran, heading forward. “Ah to be young again and see things with such wonder. Not that I’m that old or anything. I’m quite young myself, actually.”

“Come on, Coran,” Shiro replied, passing the Altean man and breaking off in a jog toward the others. What if they got hurt? No, that was ridiculous. They were all wearing their armored suits and he could still hear the peals of their laughing and shouting. Shiro let his pace slacken as he crested over the hill and the trio came into view, splashing water at each other. A tight place in his chest softened a bit at the sight of them. 

Coran was splashed right in the face as soon as he descended to the water’s border. Shiro noted that even Keith laughed as the Altean engineer’s face turned red and he launched himself into the water, accepting Lance’s unspoken challenge. The pair dueled it out, but once they were both soaked, they turned their attention to others. Keith got a faceful of water splashed up from the surface by the palm of Lance’s hand, who grinned goofily. Keith responded by dunking Lance’s head into the water.

Pidge and Hunk had discovered some tailed frog-like species that sometimes scurried and other times hopped around the water, snatching bugs from the air. The pair had decided to catch one and keep it as a pet. Pidge fell face-first into the river during one attempt, leaving Hunk laughing heartily. 

Shiro watched the scene, that tightness in his chest tugging at him. He couldn’t help the worry. That part of him was always on high-alert. Calmly reminding that fragment of himself that they were in no danger, he basked in the peaceful afternoon, watching a small scaly creature burrow into the smooth, almost stone surface of the trees. He noted the trunk's color seemed to have dulled in the last half hour.

Lance had been correct; the temperature had already dropped from balmy to cool. It would be crisp soon, the feel of fall permeating the air. 

“Hey,” Pidge began, focusing on the frog-thing, “Is it changing color? I mean, not just the plants, but the animals, too.”

“Why yes,” Coran answered, pausing his observation of Lance and Keith’s battle, who were currently attempting to utilize some of the flat leaves that grew in the under-fog as bowls to launch greater and greater quantities of water at each other. “On Kalistor, everything changes color as the temperature cools.”

“The frog is turning purple!” Hunk cried.

“So are the trees,” Shiro offered, and the group paused to look up. The white-pink petals had retracted and were turning a lovely violet. 

“Whoa!” Pidge exclaimed. “Honestly, this isn’t what I was picturing when I asked for fall, but it’s maybe the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. I mean, except techno-plants. Nothing beats techno-plants.”

The group moved from the river, as the temperature had dropped down into the sixties and the sun was starting to hang low in the sky, walking through the now iridescent white branches holding aloft their indigo stems. As they walked between them the blossoms spiraled out again, the color deepening. The forest was alive with cerulean blossoms.

“Do they fall?” Pidge asked Coran. 

“No, they stay on the tree. But they change color to reflect the season. The colors help protect them from the heat differences.”

“Man, I’m getting cold,” Lance complained wrapping his arms tighter around his wet armor. 

“Don’t be a baby. It’s not even that cold,” Keith snapped.

Lance huffed and tried to huddle into Hunk for warmth, “Maybe for you, Texas. You’ve got that nice MacGyver mullet warming your neck.”

“Which is soaking wet, thanks to you.”

“Yes, I am good at what I do, thank you for noticing.”

“I’m just glad it’s not summer anymore,” Pidge broke in. “It was getting crazy hot.”

“Yeah, but winter’s not really my thing, though,” Lance replied with a shrug of his shoulder and his lips.

“This isn’t winter,” Pidge protested.

“Oh, this is way beyond winter for me,” Lance said, trying to wedge himself deeper in Hunk’s side.

“Yeah, he had a hard time the first winter at the garrison,” Hunk said as he begrudgingly let a soaked Lance huddle close to him.

“What? It was in the middle of the desert!” Keith scrunched his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Desert nights are cold! Back home, it’s the same temperature pretty much year-round.” Lance’s teeth started to chatter and Shiro watched him eye Hunk's neck as if wondering whether he could sap some warmth with his hands. Hunk and Shiro were the only dry paladins left.

“If this is cold for you,” Pidge asked. “Then why did you tell me to turn down the environmentals to make it cold in the castle?”

“Well… you just really wanted it to be fall,” Lance said simply. “I wanted you to be happy and maybe miss home a little less,” he shrugged between shivers.

“But your home didn’t get cold,” Pidge said with a shake of the head. “So you made it like my home but not yours.”

“Well, I figured if I could make it so you weren’t homesick, that it would make me feel a little better. That is until you tried to scare me to death earlier,” Lance grumbled, pouting visibly.

“I’m _really_ sorry, Lance,” Pidge insisted. “I went totally overboard. I’m serious. I’m _REALLY_ sorry.” 

Lance smirked, “Don’t let it happen again, squirt,” he defused the tension, rubbing Pidge’s wet hair until it was nearly standing straight. 

“Who’re you calling squirt?” Pidge shouted, shoving Lance into the brush, a puff of fog clearing out of his way as he landed, and fiercely patting down the ruffled locks. 

“How about ‘pipsqueak’?” Lance offered from his place seated on the ground. 

“Fine, first one to that tree gets to pick the nicknames,” said Pidge.

“You’re on, small fry.” Lance lifted himself and the two squared up. Shiro stepped up beside them. 

“I’ll officiate and certify the results.” The pair grinned. “Alright, do we have any restrictions?”

“No holds barred,” Lance said.

“No interfering with each other directly,” Pidge corrected, turning toward Lance. “Otherwise, any means necessary?” Lance agreed with a nod.

“Bring it on.”

“Alright,” Shiro began. “On your mark. Get set. Go!”

The two began sprinting off to the distant iridescent trunk, but soon Pidge was supplementing the speed of those smaller legs with the boosters in the paladin armor. As Pidge began to pass him, Lance followed suit, pressing forward ahead of the green paladin. Not to be outdone, ten strides short of the tree, Pidge removed the bayard from its holster, tossing it out to wrap around the trunk, yanking forward and sending that small body hurtling into the trunk just ahead of the blue paladin.

Shiro sprinted for the trunk, panic rising in a column up from his stomach. As he crossed the last few strides, however, Pidge rose from the base, laughing as Lance offered a hand. 

“Sorry, Lance,” Shiro stated on his approach. “This victory clearly belongs to Pidge.”

“Man, I can’t believe it,” Lance said. “Alright, pip-- uhh, Pidge,” he covered, “what’s my new nickname? Lay it on me. I can take it.”

“How about…” Pidge began, considering, and a small smile spread across that pale face, “The Tailor?” Lance’s eyes widened, his whole face slackening in surprise.

“Seriously?”

“The tailor?” Shiro asked quizzically.

“Because I thread the needle!” Lance exclaimed with a true hearty grin splitting his face. 

“It’s something he used to say back at the garrison,” Pidge explained. “I figure you’ve really earned it now. You’re... really good with Blue.”

“Thanks, Pidge,” Lance replied, dropping a hand on the younger paladin’s shoulder with a smile. “You’re not bad yourself.” Shiro relaxed. Apparently he didn’t have to worry about Pidge’s apology after all. 

The others joined the trio under the great glowing tree, watching the leaf-petals’ colors shift even more rapidly into a dark blue, like the soil beneath their feet.

“ _Cheese_ it’s cold,” Lance exclaimed, a lungful of air crystallizing as it sped out into the atmosphere, “but it is pretty beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Keith agreed from his right shoulder, gazing up at the color-shifting world, softly glowing lights of the trees. For a moment, all was right in Shiro’s world.

Then Coran asked, “How many doboshes has it been?” 

Pidge reached for some equipment, but Shiro already knew the answer.

“Seventy-six,” he replied. Counting. Always counting. Even when he didn’t know he was, counting.

“Well, that doesn’t make sense,” Coran exclaimed. “It shouldn’t be this cold already, not for another twenty doboshes.”

“Is there a problem?” Shiro asked, body immediately on high alert, though he knew his face betrayed none of the dread clawing out from a secure spot in the back of his brain.

“I’m not sure,” Coran admitted. “Perhaps we ought to start back for the shuttle.”

“Aw, man,” Hunk lamented, shoulder slumping forward dramatically, “Pidge and I didn't get to snag one of those frogs.”

“Maybe next time,” Shiro offered. “This time, we ought to head back early.” There was a collective moan, but they all followed him as he made his way back toward the shuttle, as they always did. 

They hadn’t wandered more than a mile or so from their landing site, but it was over uneven terrain. It was clear the longer they trekked that there was definitely something wrong. The sun was beginning to hang low in the sky, despite the fact that sunset wasn’t due for another 30 doboshes. 

“Let’s pick up the pace,” Shiro pressed them faster as the temperature took a sudden drop, the light beginning to diminish. They were close to that clearing. 

“Holy quiznak,” Lance said with a violent shiver.

“We’re almost there,” Keith encouraged him, walking a little closer and glancing over at the blue paladin as if worried Lance would turn blue himself. Keith looked back over his shoulder. “How you doing, Pidge?”

“I can’t feel my feet,” Pidge admitted. “There's water in my suit from the river. It's freezing!” 

“Yeah, my toes feel like icicles,” Lance added. 

“I wouldn’t mind a piping hot cup of Treuil, myself,” Coran continued.

"Really glad I didn't get dunked," Hunk offered, "I mean, not that I'm gloating or anything. Did that sound like gloating? I'm sorry guys. I didn't want to--" Pidge cut him off. 

“Lance, you’re still gonna make me that thing, right?” Pidge asked. “I’m dying over here.”

“Lay off figuring out my Halloween costume, and yeah, it’s all yours,” Lance’s teeth chattered as he spoke, but Shiro barely registered it, spying the clearing just ahead.

“We’re here,” he shouted, pressing forward. “Everyone get on board quickly. We’re taking off as soon as those engines go hot.” The group started jogging through the underfog, a fresh burst of energy churning up the clouds now that their objective was in sight.

A crackling sound erupted from behind them in the forest, and Shiro froze for a minute, spinning, waiting for any further sound, a sign of movement. In the distance he saw something peculiar in the underbrush, like stones shooting up from the ground as it approached the edge of the clearing. It was far below freezing now and the air stung bitterly at his cheeks and nose, numbing his exposed skin in the sudden brisk of winter. 

“Get in now!” Shiro shouted, pressing forward. Tall as he was, he managed to arrive at the hatch just after Lance. He turned back to see Hunk twenty feet from the foot of the hatch with Coran approaching behind him, still a few paces back. Keith and Pidge were trailing further behind. Keith was faster than that, and Shiro knew he had hung back to make sure the smallest paladin hadn’t been left behind. The crackling roared, spreading rapidly across the ground. In the open space it was easier to see what was happening. Nothing was erupting from the ground--rather the fog itself was expanding into sharp crystals of ice, crawling across the ground. “Lance, get us hovering above this fog!” 

And then Pidge tripped. 

Shiro’s breath caught, but as he stepped forward, he watched Keith run back, lifting the green paladin and yelled “Jetpack!” pressing Pidge forward. As the green paladin launched forward, Keith pushed off the ground, but his left arm caught for a moment; the ice was spreading too rapidly. He wasn’t going to make it.

Shiro broke into a run. “Get on board, Pidge!” he called as they passed each other. Keith’s jet boosters pushed him a few steps further before his left leg got caught, grasped tightly, deeply in a thick sheet of ice. He stumbled, his right leg dropping down, swallowed in an azure-tinged icicle. Unable to balance in so long a stride, Keith fell forward, right arm bracing against a newly formed layer of ice with his gloved hand. Shiro reached out, shifting his right arm without a clear thought, heating it into a blade as he approached, jumping atop the ever expanding layer of ice as it formed beneath his feet. Once at Keith’s side, he proceeded to slice at the crystals surrounding Keith’s back leg. He made progress, but some of the the melted water particles resealed in the biting cold. 

“Keith!” a voice called, and Shiro turned to see Lance sprinting over the ice field, boosters lifting him in long glides until he was by Keith’s right side. Lance had his bayard at the ready, blasting away at the ice next to Keith’s right leg. The explosions sent most of the ice flying, a method that made short work of it so that Shiro and Lance finished extricating Keith’s legs about the same time. They both pulled one of his arms over their neck and, at Lance’s cue, blasted up with their booster jets in unison to break the red paladin free. 

Shiro caught sight of the shuttle as he turned around, its paired engines tightly secured beneath a thick crystal layer on either side of the ship, and rage built in his chest. They settled Keith down on a seat, Coran shut the hatch, and Shiro rounded on Lance.

“I told you to get the engines started! I told you to get us above the fog! The flashy job isn’t always the most important, Lance. Saving people isn’t always about being seen. We were depending on you to get us out of here!” Shiro wasn’t even sure where the words came from, they just spilled out of his mouth, as if spoken from someone else’s mouth. And it’s not like he thought he was wrong in what he said, but he knew from Lance’s crestfallen face that he’d said it all wrong.

“Just lay off of Lance, alright?” Keith growled through gritted teeth, a set expression of pain in his face. “He just saved my life. What was he supposed to do?”

“You know, if it helps,” Hunk offered, “we were already dead in the water when he jumped out to save Keith. Or dead in the ice, I guess.”

“Lance couldn’t pull free,” Pidge offered, “he was asking Hunk if there was any more power he could give him to help break us out of the ice. When I came in, he realized Keith wasn’t with me and... Ugh!” Pidge exclaimed. “That would’ve been the perfect opportunity for a Star Trek joke! How many times do you get to say ‘I’m giving her all she’s got, Captain’ unironically?” The realization sounded wrong in the palpable air of the shuttle, but Shiro was grateful for the innocent joke. It surprised him enough to knock him to his senses. Or to knock whatever part of him had just surfaced back down to the depths. 

“I’m sorry,” Lance spoke in a defeated whisper and Shiro sincerely wished in that moment that there was some way to punch yourself in the face with full power. If anyone deserved it, he did. What the cheese was wrong with him?

“No, I’m sorry, Lance. Thank you for what you did. That was quick thinking,” Shiro replied. That’s all he could manage. A piece of him screamed inside in self rage, so he crushed it down as usual. Another breath, and he was back to normal. “Look after Keith,” he instructed Lance, before turning his attention to Pidge. “So what’s our situation?”

“Not great,” Pidge offered, plopping down in the co-pilot seat and looking at some readings, a shiver shaking down both of the young Holt’s arms as they pressed the screens. “The temperature out there is nearing lethal levels. We’re just lucky we got inside when we did.”

“The problem is with our power levels,” Hunk offered. “We’re worried the shuttle may have been damaged by the ice. The power is holding steady at forty percent, but we may have lost a couple power crystals in the engines as the ice expanded. For all we know, the others could be damaged, we just can’t tell.”

“Can you access them from inside the cabin?”

“Some of the lines they run on, definitely, yeah,” Hunk said. “Not sure about the crystals themselves.”

“Alright, see what you can find.” Shiro turned his attention to Pidge.

“I’m thinking we should conserve power just in case,” Pidge offered. “Starting with environmentals.”

“We should seal off the flight section in favor of the cargo compartment,” Coran suggested. “It won’t be as comfortable, I imagine, but preferable to freezing to death.”

“I can reprogram the system to only pump heat to the rear section of the shuttle,” Pidge confirmed.

“Sealing off the flight controls will only get us so far,” Coran said, tapping some controls from the pilot’s seat. “And we can’t come back in to make adjustments later. We’d lose too much heat Once these doors close, we shouldn’t open them again until the night has passed.”

“I have access to most of the controls through here,” said Hunk, head stuck through an open panel on the port side near the front of the cargo area. “Pidge, take a look.” Pidge hopped up, scrambling down on the floor and Shiro stepped clear, backing up a few steps to allow them both to work, ultimately bumping into Lance. He spun around toward Lance and Keith, seated on a built-in bench on the starboard side, a series of restraints locked into the wall in small square panels behind them for flight.

“I don’t think he’s breathing right, Shiro,” Lance said, his concerned gaze lifting off Keith’s face for a moment to rest on Shiro’s before staring back at Keith. Shiro looked at the dark-haired paladin as well, seeing the quick, shallow breaths. His eyes looked sluggish. Shiro crouched, settling directly in front of Keith, who looked up at his gaze. 

“How are you feeling?” Shiro asked, a frown creasing his features as he looked Keith up and down. 

“Tired,” Keith breathed. “Like my heart’s racing. And then like it’s not.” 

“Your heart rate was fast and now it’s falling?” Shiro confirmed and Keith nodded in answer. “Lance, we’re getting him out of this armor right now.” Shiro began by removing Keith’s left glove. He stripped it away, exposing a purpling mess on the skin spreading from his fingers. Shiro felt a pressure spreading out from his brain as if exploding out through his ears, but the part of his mind that made him a good pilot pressed forward, blocking out all the other fragments and refusing them a voice.

“Holy quiznak!” Lance exclaimed at the sight of it, helping to remove Keith’s right arm from the armor. “Was that long enough to give him frostbite through the armor?” Shiro didn’t have time to answer, and he wasn’t sure he knew.

“Coran, do you have any medical supplies on board? Blankets? Anything like that?”

“There’s a kit with thermal sheets under the seat, but not much more than some bandages,” Coran said. “We rely heavily on the supplies in the castleship.” Lance lifted Keith, already half out of his armor, so Coran could access the storage section, pulling out a smooth gray sheet. Shiro snatched it from Coran’s grip, unfolding it and tossing over Keith’s shoulders as Lance seated him back down. 

Shiro removed the greaves of Keith’s armor, but noticed small fissures in the nearly impenetrable metal. It seemed almost incomprehensible, but the speed at which the ice had expanded had cracked it in two places, small, but large enough to allow the icy crystals entrance. Shiro had hoped the armor had protected Keith. What was that fog made of?

Keith’s legs were worse, blotches of Byzantium staining from his toes to his left knee and right calf, blending into red and white from there. The fog, once inside, had frozen the water pooling in Keith's boots directly against his skin. Shiro gently pressed against a section of skin as he lifted the bottom of his leggings. Keith positively growled in response. 

“Sensation is a good thing,” he said, to no one in particular. Shiro stood, peeling away his own armor. “Lance, get your armor off. We’re going to warm him up.” Lance’s face flushed up to his ears as he understood what Shiro was asking, glancing nervously down at Keith’s pained face, but he complied without further hesitation. Shiro readjusted his under suit, which had been pulled uncomfortably to the left when he’d whipped the chestplate over his head. He sat with Keith to his right, and Lance to Keith’s, lifting the blanket and placing it over their front instead. 

Keith’s legs felt icy as his own connected and Shiro tried not to touch the purple skin too roughly, worried of damaging the tissue further. Once they got to the ship, the cryotube would take care of Keith, he assured himself. But Keith was in pain now. Shiro placed a hand gently against Keith’s frost-nipped fingers, hoping to transfer some warmth from his one real limb.

Shiro’s mechanical right arm could feel Lance sigh heavily in its position wrapped around Keith’s back, now pinned between Lance and Keith. Lance’s arm crossed Keith’s back under Shiro's own, wrapping down to Keith’s side. The pair of them each squeezed in on Keith, pulling into him as if their lives depended on it. Or at least like Keith’s life did.

“Almost ready,” Coran called from the pilot’s seat. Shiro had lost track of events. Had someone said something while he and Lance were dealing with Keith? 

“Alright, close it off,” Pidge replied. Coran hopped out of the seat, sliding behind the cockpit doors and using the panel to lose them off. They sealed closed with a hiss. 

“Do you want good news or bad news first?” Hunk asked, sitting up from his supine position on the floor. 

“Bad news,” Shiro replied.

“The bad news is we don’t have enough power to maintain the heat in our current circumstances. We’re down to twenty percent.”

“What’s the good news?” Shiro continued, squeezing Keith closer as Lance did the same, a strange supportive tug-of-war ensuing over Keith.

“I found a way to power the crystals in an alternating sequence rather than simultaneously.” Hunk motioned in a double-chopping motion, down once to the left on ‘alternating sequence’ then to his right on ‘simultaneously’. “Pidge helped me program it so it’ll use one crystal and then move on to the next after a certain percentage drop. The crystals can recoup some of their charge while the next crystal is utilized. I wouldn’t have thought of it if we hadn’t pulled that prank earlier.”

“It won’t let us keep the current temperature,” Pidge offered, “but it should be manageable, and leave us with enough power to get through the domo-whatever on our way out.”

“Boromo-field,” Coran corrected, a single finger held aloft in the air.

“Lights will need to dim, too,” Hunk offered.

“I understand,” Shiro said, taking a deep breath that pressed his lower ribs against Lance’s left hand. “Good work, you two.” Hunk lowered the lights and Pidge turned the air down.

“Is Keith going to be alright?” Pidge asked, tapping a few keys, and Shiro heard the slight hum of the air lessen, felt the cold press in on them. Shiro smiled.

“He’ll be fine when we get back to the castleship,” Shiro replied. And he would. Eventually. Until then, they were trapped in this cold shuttle for the next four vargas. 

_Four vargas and twenty-four doboshes_ , he corrected himself. 

The sun had gone down early.

 

\---------------

 

Shiro had far too much time to think as they waited out their time on Kalistor’s surface. The cabin was too cold, so Hunk, Pidge, and Coran had huddled together for warmth on the seats opposite his own trio. After the shivers had passed, the three had settled down and ultimately fell asleep in the dim glow of the cargo bay. Keith drifted off to slumber eventually, but had complained for a time about the burning sensation of Shiro and Lance’s warm extremities as they came into contact with his skin. Shiro hoped his dormancy signified relief from pain, and not a worsening of his symptoms. As far as he could feel, the frigidity had been pulled out of the skin Keith’s legs. 

Shiro tried to focus on the upcoming mission. He’d decided it was time to take the fight to Zarkon, and the Blade were eager to put their plans in motion, beginning to move their operatives into position the moment they’d all left the Blade’s headquarters, rocketing out from between black holes and blue stars. And Shiro hadn’t questioned that move. He was grateful for it, grateful for their expedited one-week timeframe. He wanted to see this to the end, but he also wanted it to be over. The end couldn’t get here soon enough for Shiro.

He closed his eyes, desperate to be able to move, trapped here at Keith’s side. If he had to be trapped anywhere, beside his surrogate otouto wasn’t the worst place he could imagine. But his mind was wandering, his brain sifting through emotions he didn’t want to look at in the lackluster glow of the cargo hold. Doubts gripped him. He felt so sure when he had agreed to meet up with the Blade, to discuss future missions, to take on Zarkon once and for all. But now, holding Keith injured at his side, Lance sitting opposite who had just an hour before worn that crestfallen expression as Shiro berated him, the image of Pidge tripping just yards short of the hatch, Shiro worried he’d brought them too far.

Who was he to put their lives in danger? His own frontal lobe had barely finished forming, and he was supposed to mold these children into soldiers, put them in harm’s way, make them fight for a war not naturally their own, Keith the only member who had some stake in the outcome?

 _Besides me_ , thought Shiro, bitterly.

Keith fought for Shiro from the beginning, discovering his Galra side was only a recent development. Lance fought as some kind of competition with Keith. Hunk fought because of Lance. Pidge fought as a stepping stool to finding the missing Holt duo. Only Shiro had true cause to hate the Galra empire. Only Shiro had that pain, that secret mania pushing at him for resolution. They were only really here because of him.

“Are you awake, Shiro?” a small voice breathed. Shiro arced his neck forward around Keith’s passive face and locked eyes with Lance.

“Is something wrong?” Shiro whispered back.

“No, it’s just…” Lance began, but his gaze fell to the floor. “I don’t know. I just wanted to apologize again, I guess.”

“We’ve been through this, Lance. It wasn’t your fault,” Shiro murmured. 

“But I kinda did forget,” Lance pressed, eyes searching the darkness. “When I realized Keith was still out there, I forgot about everything else, I just ran. I didn’t think about what you’d asked me to do at all.” Shiro wasn’t sure how to respond. This was just what he was worried about. He’d be damned if Lance would get dragged down by what happened the way Shiro was. But what was he supposed to say?

 _What would you have wanted someone to say to you?_ the thought drifted across his mind.

“Look, I know things have been stressful for you today,” Shiro offered, a tightness and heat in his lungs relaxing as he spoke. “I realize what you must have thought when you saw all that blood before. That was only a few hours ago. It almost doesn’t matter that it wasn't real, because it was real to you. You saw that, you felt it.”

Lance sucked in a hollow breath, “Yeah, that really sucked.” 

“We were wrong to do it. And then you almost lost Keith again. Look, no one knows how they’ll react when things like this happen. But there is absolutely no right way to be when you feel that kind of fear. However you react, however you feel, that was the way you needed to be to survive it. Lance, you didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, I think you did everything right. On top of that, you probably saved Keith with your quick thinking. But I’m sorry that you had to rescue him. And I'm sorry for that stupid prank. You shouldn't have had to go through any of it.” 

Lance was silent, considering. His voice caught when he spoke, “You don’t think I did anything wrong?” Shiro pulled his hand out from between Keith and Lance’s sides, reaching a bit further to rest it on Lance’s back. 

“That’s right,” Shiro replied. “You didn’t do anything wrong at all.” Shiro paused and smirked. “This doesn’t get you out of following orders, though. There are still some things to do that none of us should have to. But it’s up to us.”

“I don’t know, Shiro,” Lance said, “but what if I’m in that fear and I just don’t know how to react? Can I ignore orders then?”

“I very much regret saying that to you now,” Shiro replied, voice sounding completely depleted.

“I’m joking,” Lance chuckled, and Keith moaned from between them, roused a bit from the motion. They both held their breath.

“Mom,” moaned Keith, face scrunching in his unsettled slumber. Shiro felt Lance tighten his grip on Keith’s side, pulling him closer, away from Shiro. He didn’t pull Keith back to himself, instead watching Lance’s face muddle with concern. But Lance’s concern blended into a soft smile soon thereafter. 

“It’s alright, mullet,” Lance whispered, but there was no animosity in the nickname this time. “We’re here with you. Just sleep it off, okay?” Lance squeezed Keith’s side a few times in quick succession, as if reminding the dark-haired youth that he was there. Shiro took a deep breath. Lance would be alright. He still carried that bright light of his in the darkness, and that made Shiro feel a little less frightened. Yes, they would face more darkness than they had yet, but if Lance’s tender heart could survive everything he’d seen today, then Shiro had reason to hope they’d all come through this alright.

 

\---------------

 

Takeoff had been a stressful endeavor, all the occupants of the shuttle cramming into the cockpit, waiting with bated breath as they begun the power-up sequence, reverting to the tandem energy system to give them extra boost. The engines roared to life on both wings and Hunk shouted the all clear, so Shiro sent them back into the cargo hold and pulled the ship out of the newly melted fog up into the atmosphere. Looking down at the planet, Shiro noticed a mountain range, one large central peak jutting above the rest as they flew over on their ascent. 

“What do you think the elevation is on that?” Shiro remarked. Coran pulled it up on the HUD from the co-pilot position.

“Oh, my,” Coran muttered. “Tall enough to change the time of sunset in the forest where we were. My calculations put you all in danger,” he continued miserably.

“Don’t worry, Coran,” Shiro assured the Altean. “We all came through it alright. Isn’t that right?”

“What? Present!” Pidge called, still groggy from the trio’s late-afternoon nap. 

“We’re good,” Hunk replied.

“Lance, how is Keith?” Shiro shouted. 

“Keith is fine!” Keith himself snarled back, “and he doesn’t need a babysitter!”

“I got him!” Lance called. “Just relax, mullet, we’ll have you in a cryopod in no time.”

“I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get in the castle and warm up,” Hunk said silkily. 

“Oh, quiznak!” Pidge shouted. “I turned down the temperature in the halls. It’s, like, sixty degrees in there.”

“Oh, man,” Hunk moaned.

“What is that in celsius?” Lance inquired.

“About fifteen,” Shiro called back.

“Aw, man,” Lance echoed. 

Shiro guided them back up to the ship, punching through the whatever-Coran-called-it-field with relative ease. Shiro didn’t listen as Coran opened a comm channel, relaying their troubles to a panicked Allura. But seeing her face, seeing the castleship in his view, made his heart leap. For all the bad that had happened since they arrived, it was the one place he felt safe, and the only place in the universe that made sense to him anymore. Shiro was just relieved to be home in the Castle of Lions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! My first time writing from Shiro's POV, and I actually enjoyed it a lot once I got into it. 
> 
> The next chapter will be released on Keith's birthday (why is that deadline so close?!?!), and will be Keith POV, with light pre-relationship Klance.
> 
> I had editing help from the MARVELOUS GlassAlice. She also released a fic today and still found time to help edit my work. If you [follow GlassAlice on tumblr!](http://yuzuling.tumblr.com/), you can click through to her new fic there, or just search above by her pseud.
> 
> If you like, you could [follow me on tumblr](http://starbuck-7.tumblr.com/), too. I just released a fan theory on Samuel Holt, if you like that kind of thing.


	4. If You Give a Keith a Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Birthdays had never meant much of anything to Keith. There was never any pomp or to-do growing up. It wasn’t like he’d never celebrated a birthday, but it had always been a quiet affair, more like a night-in than anything else. Keith knew others celebrated in the open with parties and such, but for him the idea made him anxious, like the mere mention of his birthday was some kind of intrusion on others’ lives. Mostly he kept his birthday to himself, not wanting to burden anyone. He didn’t want to make people treat him differently or ask them to get him gifts or anything like that. Gifts like the one Lance had given him, held tightly in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the fourth installment of a weekly prompts fic. Due to the switching POV, they do stand alone pretty well. However, all 5 installments fit chronologically between Blade of Marmora and the Belly of the Weblum. 
> 
> I was given five prompts from the Voltron Amino, one for each week of October, and for some reason I thought it would be brilliant to string them together sequentially, and although I still maintain that it's the most amazing thought to be thunk in the history of prompts (slight exaggeration), it's also maybe the most stressful thing I've ever done. Anyway, this week's topic is Keith's Birthday! It will be both Angsty and pre-relationship Klancey.
> 
> *Warning*  
> There will be some racist/micro-agression comments.

Echoing sounds, something approximating speech, wafted through the back of his subconscious, a slow swish like rushing water pulsing in his head. Keith tasted a metallic tinge on his tongue, felt the gentle pressure of his body suit against his skin, the cold nipping at his fingers and nose. He opened his eyes, but saw only an electric blue blur glimmering across his field of vision. The rush of blood through his ears continued to pound as his head cleared. There was movement in front of him, the blue light shimmering up and out of his field of vision. Keith stumbled forward in a puff of crystallized air, left foot making contact with the floor just in front of him, his sight sharpening as he stretched himself to his full height.

A voice called out to him, but he hadn’t time enough to register the, “Heads up, mullet!” before an object collided with his chest. Keith tried to grasp at it, fumbling it from hand to hand, before pulling the squishy package close to his chest. Startled, Keith gazed down at the paper wrapping, covered with sketches. He spied an impressive outline of the state of Texas, no doubt scrawled from memory, a red and blue lightsaber crossed with the words “One does not simply...Pick up a roll of wrapping paper without pretending it’s a lightsaber” scrawled above and below. There were other insignias, one falcon-like--the rebel insignia, Keith recognized--with an arrow drawn from a note _That’s us!_ , and _Zarkon! Boooo!_ scratched in reference to the imperial insignia. Keith’s brow furrowed and he looked up in surprise.

Lance stood there across from him, right hand resting on his hip, his usual grin pulling at the smooth skin of his face, and Keith’s head must still be full of cryo-fog, because that dumb jacket actually looked kinda cool. Stepping forward, Keith walked further from the cryotube, and Lance matched him, meeting in the center of the room. 

“Welcome back!” Lance beamed. “You like your present?”

Keith stared back at the paper wrapping, seeing a pair of closed eyes with heavy eyeliner and a caption that read _Emo… Like goth, but for posers._

“Present?” a befuddled Keith inquired, twisting the paper over in his hands and spotting a hand-drawn cartoon of a family of gray and pink hippos. The largest daddy hippo was consumed by a blue shark, who was in turn gulped down by the tiniest pink hippo, who then burped. Keith smirked. Then Keith saw a purple symbol, outlined in a thick layer of black.

The Blade of Marmora.

Keith traced his fingers over it, unsure how to feel. Drawing the tips of his fingers across the rough surface in bewilderment, Keith only saw the inscription below it once his hands worked their way past.

_To: Keith (aka Mullet)_  
From: Lance (aka The Tailor, Good Looking,  
Cool Ninja Sharpshooter, The Fun One) 

_HAPPY BIR THDAY!_

The lettering gradually scrunched together as Lance ran out of space, but Keith eyed the words carefully, taking in every letter.

“You got me a birthday present?” he asked dumbly. 

“No, I _made_ you a birthday present,” Lance corrected, one finger held aloft, then he indicated back to the gift. “Go ahead! Open it!”

Keith flicked his eyes up at Lance’s expectant face, blinking in confusion. There was something about Lance’s gaze that made Keith wary of the home-made wrapping. Was it possible he had made a joke gift? Was something going to jump out at him? Keith pulled gently at the folds of paper, feeling a sticky substance connecting the two sections together. Keith recognized the same removable glue, an accidental creation of Hunk’s, that they’d used to decorate for their fall lunch, Shiro hanging leaves that Keith and Lance cut from a strips of a special foam. Not wanting to damage the drawings, Keith gently pried the glue loose before opening, taking a breath and bracing just in case. He pulled the paper back… to find another set of wrapping paper. This one was scrawled in large lettering, _The amount of wrapping paper layers… is too damn high!_ with an added footnote, _Psych!_

Lance chuckled, “I couldn’t resist.”

Keith eyed Lance suspiciously while tearing unceremoniously through the second layer. He looked down as his fingers touched soft fabric. Keith unfolded the knitted bundle in his hands, pulling it outward to get a good look. The top layer was red, the bottom blue, and in the center they bled together in shades of purple, the pattern continuing on the arms of the sweater where his hands held it aloft.

“In hindsight, it would have been nice if I’d finished it before we went down to Kalistor,” Lance began, “but Pidge still has the environmentals turned down low in the hallways here, so… I figured you might give that jacket of yours a break for a while. I know we only have a few things left from Earth. I mean, if you hate it that’s okay,” Lance continued, his face flushing. “You don’t have to wear it or anything.” 

“No, it’s…” Keith began awkwardly, not sure what to say. “You’re way craftier than me,” he offered lamely.

“Ah, submitting to the master? A wise choice, my young Padawan,” Lance boasted, chest puffed out and face smothered in swagger. “I get you’ve been sleeping for awhile, but it is kinda late.” Lance shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and looked down shuffling his foot, “You wanna, I don’t know, get something to eat and head to bed?” Lance looked up, his face red. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and waved them in front of him in defence, “I don’t mean... You don’t… Not with me, I didn’t mean. Oh my god.” He groaned and rubbed his hand down his face, “I can _eat_ with you if you want, then go to our _separate_ beds, but if you wanna eat alone, that’s okay too.”

“Uh,” Keith began, his cheeks coloring, his head still reeling from the cryo-fog, the recent exchange leaving him doubly confused. “I mean…” Keith did a quick assessment of his body, concluding, “I could eat.”

“Gre~at,” Lance’s strained reply blared out, a frazzled look spread across his features. Keith blinked, then took the decorative paper and folded it back into place, setting it under the sweater.

“Can I get out of this bodysuit first?” Keith asked, following Lance out into the chilly hallway.

“Sure, man, whatever you like,” said Lance, the blue paladin nearly steamrolling Keith in his haste to get out the doorway. After a few false starts, Keith paused to let him past and Lance’s ears and cheeks burned red as he continued forward through the threshold, turning in the direction of the rooms.

Lance had _made_ him a _sweater_. For his _birthday_. 

Birthdays had never meant much of anything to Keith. There was never any pomp or to-do growing up. It wasn’t like he’d never celebrated a birthday, but it had always been a quiet affair, more like a night-in than anything else. Keith knew others celebrated in the open with parties and such, but for him the idea made him anxious, like the mere mention of his birthday was some kind of intrusion on others’ lives. Mostly he kept his birthday to himself, not wanting to burden anyone. He didn’t want to make people treat him differently or ask them to get him gifts or anything like that. Gifts like the cushiony sweater he now held in his hands.

Keith gazed up at Lance, fiddling the soft red yarn between the tips his fingers as he walked, but the blue paladin--normally the first to fill any silence--was suspiciously quiet in their trek through the castle. He looked forward again, but studied Lance out of the corner of his eye, searching for any sign of mischief. Finding no obvious signs, he sighed and let his curiosity lead the conversation, “How did you find out it was my birthday, anyway?” 

“Shiro,” Lance replied with a shrug. “He figured it out before we made our re-supply. Which gave me time to get some yarn. And knitting needles, of course.”

“The knitting needles!” Keith exclaimed too loudly. Lance had pulled those from his room during their faux horror film prank. He continued, thoughtfully, “I was wondering how you got those.”

“Well, I didn’t have them on me when we made the jump from Earth, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Lance joked, and Keith pressed his door locks and walked inside. Tossing the sweater and patterned paper on the storage box next to his door, Keith crossed to his folded clothes on his bed and started pulling off the body suit. 

“What are you doing?!” Lance’s voice rocketed up almost an octave, his face blazing red. He whipped around, fixing his eyes firmly to the wall. 

Keith looked over his bare shoulder at the commotion, confused to see Lance’s visage color and then place himself in the corner in some kind of self-imposed time-out. “I’m just changing, what’s your problem?” 

“A little warning first, buddy. I don’t need to see you naked. Noooo thank you.” Lance’s head hit the wall harshly with a sigh, and his hands came up to cup his cheeks.

Keith squinted at the other paladin’s obvious distress and looked down at himself, inspecting his chest, his arms, “We’re both guys,” he began, but his gaze rested heavily on his right hand, memories of his fight with the Galra mage cresting in his mind. Keith’s voice trembled as he turned away and muttered, “It’s not like I have purple fur or anything, you know.”

“What? No!” He heard Lance turn away from the wall in surprise and frustration. Keith gazed back over his shoulder, but Lance’s eyes hadn’t flitted over his bare back for more than a moment before he seemingly thought better of it, turning away from Keith and shoving his nose back into the corner, “Why would I think you had fur? I’m just trying to respect your privacy.” Lance’s voice was muffled against the wall.

“Oh,” Keith spoke hesitantly, uncomfortable with Lance’s quick inspection of him, still certain he was searching for some sign of his Galra heritage on his skin. He cleared his throat, pulling his black shirt over his head, “So you were saying, about the knitting needles?”

Lance spoke to the wall, the sound ricocheting oddly in the tight space, “Oh right! They were a custom job at the Chaitari metallurgist. It’s like their high-tech version of a blacksmith. Used up almost all my credit from the trades just on those babies.”

“You spent all your money on me?” Keith asked, and his brow furrowed, his lips pulling into a frown. “You shouldn’t have done that, Lance. I’m fine. I don’t need presents or anything. It’s not a big deal.” 

“Keith, buddy, it’s your _birthday_ ,” Lance emphasized, eyes squinching as he banged his head against the wall in frustration, “We _have_ to celebrate. It’s a moral imperative.” 

“Moral imperative, huh?” Keith finished pulling on his shoes, striding up behind Lance. His left hand hovered over Lance’s shoulder, hesitating for a breath too long. Lance touched him all the time, but was he allowed to touch Lance back? He steeled his resolve and placed his hand lightly on Lance’s shoulder. The blue paladin peeked back at Keith hesitantly, “I’m all dressed. Ready to grab some food goo?”

Lance’s eyes flicked down to his shoulder at Keith’s hand and a grin lit up his face, “Yeah, let’s go get you some grub. Cryo-hungers are the worst, trust me.” 

Keith let his hand fall back to his side and turned to activate the door with his right hand, which swished open, letting in the cold air of the corridor beyond. He then leaned around Lance, grabbing his red jacket with his left hand from its hook on the wall. 

Lance’s eyes flicked to his left for a moment, then back to Keith as he spoke, “Yeah, right, your jacket. Don’t forget that, those corridors really are chilly. We should have Pidge put the environmentals back soon. I don’t know how much more artificial fall I can take.” 

Lance paused and dropped a bent arm on Keith’s right shoulder, the warmth of it seeping down into his skin, “Let’s go, I’m starved.” Lance leaned on Keith, his full weight pulling down on Keith’s shoulder, and winked.

Until that moment, Keith hadn’t even realized he was cold. The gentle heat from the crook of Lance’s arm pressing down on him felt nice in the brisk chill pouring in from the corridor. Keith spied the multi-colored sweater, discarded carelessly on the box to his right. 

Panicked, Keith’s eyes whipped back up at Lance. He hadn’t meant to toss it there so haphazardly. He hadn’t even meant to grab his jacket, it was just reflex. Maybe he should just put the sweater on already. But he didn’t want to make Lance move his arm from its place nestled near the crook of his neck. _I mean, he might take that the wrong way. I don’t want to offend him or anything,_ Keith deliberated. But if Keith wore the sweater that might make Lance happy. He did go through the trouble of making it by hand, and Keith should show his gratitude...

Keith stepped away, replacing his jacket on the hook. The blue paladin’s arm slipped off his shoulder, leaving an icy spot in the space Lance’s arm used to occupy. Keith stepped to the box and crouched, carefully lifting the sweater and turning it over in his hands, pushing both arms through and pulling it over his face. He slid the sweater down over his black shirt, its downy threads brushing against his neck as it settled into place. Keith gazed down at his front. It fit perfectly. Lance seemed to have noticed, too, eyeing Keith up and down.

“Not bad, even if I say it myself who shouldn’t,” Lance praised his own efforts with a wide grin. “I measured that jacket you love so much for the fit,” he continued, indicating the jacket at his right. “It’s not too tight?”

“No, it’s good,” Keith replied.

“Well, c’mon!” Lance said, grabbing Keith’s arm and leading him out the door, slapping the door panel on their way out so it swished shut behind them.

“I can walk on my own, y’know,” Keith protested. Lance grinned, releasing his arm.

“Really?” he retorted. “Kinda seemed like you were having some trouble with it.” Keith glared, recognizing his own words from earlier that day.

“Alright, Tailor-Sharpshooter-Fun-Guy,” Keith shot back. “If I need a walking assist from someone who nearly tripped me walking in a straight line five minutes ago, I’ll ask you.”

“You forgot ‘Good Looking’,” Lance chided silkily, “And that’s _Cool Ninja_ Sharpshooter to you.” Keith smirked, falling into the easy banter and Lance grinned back. That was the best part of having Lance on board, having someone to mock and toss insults back and forth with, someone who could give as good as he got. The pair made their way to the galley door. Lance jumped past him abruptly as they reached the door so he could be the one to put his hand on the panel. Lance peered over his left shoulder at Keith, who just stared at Lance’s grin before pushing the door controls. 

The door swished open, and the pair walked into the galley. 

“SURPRISE!!” a chorus yelled out from both sides, and Keith went on guard, crouching slightly, trying to look both directions at once. He relaxed slightly as he spied the other paladins, dressed in their casual clothes, surrounding himself and Lance on either side of the door, bright smiles gracing their faces. 

“Happy Birthday, Keith!” Pidge chimed. 

“What’s going on?” a bewildered Keith, head turning to take in all the room. It was still peppered with fall decorations, but they had added balloon shapes to the walls, and a paper banner across the leaves with the words ‘Happy Birthday’ scrawled in large lettering. “I thought everyone would be asleep.”

“Oh, that?” Lance quipped, eyebrows hopping up and down above that stupid grin, “Yeah, you were in the cryopod all night. It’s basically lunchtime. I had you going, though, right?”

“Yes, you’re very devious and sneaky, Lance,” Keith groaned.

“Hey, _you’re_ the one who said I was _‘crafty’_. Amiright?” he responded, aiming directly at Keith with double finger guns.

“Yeah. Though apparently you’re better at tricking than being tricked.” Keith’s thick eyebrows pulled down over his nose, glaring at Lance.

“I think he just called me a wimp,” Lance spoke to Hunk, standing to the right of the door, backhanding the yellow paladin’s arm for emphasis.

“I think he called you a liar, too,” Pidge added.

“I resent that, mullet,” Lance reproached, pointing a long elegant finger at him. “It was my very official important Voltron duty to get you here for your birthday party.”

“And you’re very good at important Voltron deception,” zinged Keith with the beginnings of a true smile tugging at his mouth. Very little gave him as much true enjoyment in life as making fun of Lance.

“When Lance told me it was the twenty-first, I made sure to go around and tell everyone that the twenty-third was your birthday, as soon as you left the luncheon,” Shiro clarified from the left of the doorway, jumping in before Lance could experience another rout at the receiving end of one of Keith’s tongue lashings.

“You guys didn’t have to do this,” Keith began, his face red from all the attention. Why was everyone making such a fuss over him? 

“Nonsense!” Coran chimed in from the left of the doorway, walking forward toward the table. “Celebrating the cycle of a Deca-Phoeb is important on Altea as well, especially in the teens and tweens! Oh, but the threens are exciting. You have plenty of good years ahead of you.”

“Thanks,” Keith mumbled, awkwardly. Pidge got behind him, pushing on his back, his new sweater and shirt riding up as the youngest defender of the galaxy helped guide him to a seat. His pale skin felt chilly in the exposed air, the lifted sweater baring most of his back along with a sliver of stomach and sharp hip, causing goosebumps to crawl up his arms. Keith quickly pulled down on the hem to cover himself back up. Then he saw the table. Keith thought he’d been punched in the gut when he saw a stack of decorated packages in the center of the table. “Everyone, you really didn’t have to do that…”

“Well, we already did,” Shiro said knowingly, eyeing Keith pointedly with raised eyebrows, cautioning him. “So just relax and enjoy yourself.” They locked eyes and Keith nodded. He wasn’t comfortable with all the attention, but Shiro was right. They’d already made the party, and he wasn’t going to ruin it for everyone else. 

“Presents have to wait until the end, though,” Pidge insisted. 

“Yeah, obvs,” Lance said. “You can’t open your gifts before dessert.”

“I am literally wearing your gift already,” Keith jeered.

“That’s different,” a petulant Lance objected.

“How?”

“...” Lance considered a moment. “Because it’s cold,” he concluded, nodding his head once as if pleased with his spur-of-the-moment response. Keith rolled his eyes.

“You hungry?” Hunk inquired, picking up trays from the end of the table and setting them out around the gifts. “Since you were raised in Texas, I made your basic TexMex fare. Chimichangas, tacos, rice and beans, something crispy that crunches exactly like corn chips--don’t ask, chef secret--guacamole, and a truly divine queso.”

“Sounds good,” Keith offered, unsure what the social protocol was for this. Was he supposed to say something? Oh god, they didn’t want a speech or something, did they?

“Wait, you do still like Earth food, right?” Hunk asked, and Keith did a double-take. 

_What?!_

“Um,” Keith managed to mouth, his voice faltering. What kind of question was that?

“Well, I mean with the whole Galra thing,” Hunk continued. Keith felt like he’d been slapped. “What do Galra eat, anyway? Do Galra have any, like, special food allergies or anything?” 

For some reason, his eyes caught Allura’s from across the table. Her sneer, disgust written in the taut lines of her cheeks, just about broke him. Keith took a breath.

“TexMex should be fine,” Keith said, his stomach churning. Unlike their fall lunch, this seemed more of a free-for-all situation, but Keith couldn’t focus enough to fill his plate. Luckily, as the room delved into the fiesta Lance, seated to his right, made sure Pidge didn’t steal all the queso and Coran left some tacos on the platter--which he maintained crunched exactly like Gebatra bug shells--so Keith could get some of everything. But his appetite had waned. 

Keith nibbled at his food, listening to the conversation around him, and answering questions half-heartedly.

“What were your birthday parties like growing up?” Pidge asked him, breaking into his wandering ideation.

Keith pondered a moment, trying to remember a real birthday the others could accept, “We didn’t do big parties or anything,” Keith said finally, utensil stirring his guacamole around on the plate--which he assumed was mostly just regular food goo with an impressive array of seasonings. “My dad made me a special dinner and I’d open my present and we’d watch a movie together.”

“What was your _favorite_ birthday?” Lance asked, nudging Keith’s arm with his elbow. Keith considered for only a moment.

“The one where Shiro snuck me onto the Garrison base,” Keith replied with a soft smile, turning to look between Shiro and Lance. “I’d been begging him to let me come with him, but his S.O. denied the request. So he got me a spare uniform and I sat in on almost a full day of classes before they figured it out.”

“I told you not to use the flight simulator,” Shiro interjected. “That’s why they caught us. You can’t just jump in and know how to fly. They weren’t so happy with your results.”

“Hold up,” Lance broke in, pointing a finger at Keith, “are you saying mullet here wasn’t just automatically good at something?”

“He crashed fifteen seconds into a simulated flight,” Shiro confirmed, chuckling to himself.

“It was seventeen seconds!” Keith contested heatedly, almost jumping from his seat. Lance laughed heartily, a guffaw that descended into sighs of genuine mirth.

“Oh, my heart needed that,” Lance said, covering his chest with two hands. 

“You’re not going to let me live this down, are you?” Keith looked at Lance through his thick eyelashes, crossing his arms in a huff. Lance’s voice dropped low again, staring directly at Keith.

“Never. Gonna. Happen.” Lance grinned. 

Keith rolled his eyes before turning back to his food. He dipped his chips in the guac and took a bite. _Not bad, Hunk,_ he thought, and found the Queso even more impressive.

“So, where are you from?” Hunk inquired, leaning his head on one of his large hands.

“Texas,” Keith replied, and then realized Hunk already knew that. “Basically the middle of nowhere.” He dipped into more queso, crunching down on a chip, eyes closing slightly, head shaking a bit in disbelief. Each bite was shockingly perfect. He had no idea how Hunk managed it, especially using ingredients not remotely like anything found on Earth. Keith was no good in the kitchen himself. 

“No, I mean before that,” Hunk clarified.

“I was born and raised in Texas,” said Keith, mild confusion leaking into his voice.

“But, like, your parents,” Hunk pressed, “where were _they_ from?” Keith’s eyes narrowed.

“ _Texas._ ” 

“Hey, what did you call these fried burrito things?” Lance asked, a little too loudly.

“Chimichangas,” Hunk answered. “But you’re hispanic, you should know that, right?” Hunk quirked an eye at Lance.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Hunk? I’m from Cuba,” Lance said, pronouncing the country’s name with a pure ‘coo’ sound. “We don’t eat TexMex there.” The conversation was practiced and Lance easily diverted the topic, “They’re really good, though.”

“Thanks, man,” Hunk puffed up at the praise. 

“Aren’t chimichangas an American thing?” asked Pidge, immediately stuffing roughly three mouthfuls of food into that python jaw and swallowing happily.

“Yeah, just like the taco bowl,” Shiro confirmed. “Or fortune cookies.”

“Fortune cookies aren’t from China?” Pidge asked, visibly shaken.

“Nope,” Shiro replied, scooping a hefty portion of guac on his taco. “They were invented in California by a Japanese immigrant.” Shiro chomped nearly halfway through the taco in one bite.

“Yeah, well, you know French dip?” Pidge began, “not from France.” Pidge sliced a flattened hand out to one side.

“Neither is the English muffin,” Hunk said.

“The English muffin is not from France?” Pidge asked in mock surprise.

“No, the English muffin is not from England,” Hunk deadpanned, rolling his eyes. 

“The Cubano Sandwich isn’t Cubano,” Lance continued, “though to be fair it _was_ invented by Cuban Americans. The closest thing we have is a sandwich mixto, but it doesn’t have pickles, I can tell you that.” Keith was glad of the distraction, it gave him time to collect himself. 

Hunk’s comments were salt in an already open wound. Keith was part Galra. He didn’t know what that meant to him or about him yet. But a thousand questions flitted across his mind. He’d always been a hothead, brash and foolhardy at times. Did that come from his Galra side? Was his temper, his aggression, a byproduct of his Galra heritage? If so, what other curses had he inherited?

Keith looked down at the skin of the back of his left hand. When the ice had encompassed him on Kalistor, he’d felt the pressure as it crushed in on the armor, the crystals immediately breaking the seals and the freeze rushing in against his skin. He remembered the pain, numbness, transferring through the broken armor, the same arctic expansion spreading into the cells of his hand. But Lance and Shiro had pulled him out. Above all, Keith remembered the purple blotches on his skin, an image dismissed immediately as frostbite by everyone on board.

Everyone but Keith.

He’d seen his right hand, struck by the purple lightning of a Galra mage, covered in those same purple splotches before he’d been healed by a splash of concentrated quintessence. And then, not a few days prior, Keith had discovered his own Galra heritage. 

The painful truth was that Keith knew absolutely nothing. He wasn’t sure what the purple skin meant, or if more about him would change. He had more questions brimming in his own mind than Hunk could ever bombard him with, and no way of answering them.

“Hey, mullet, ready for your cake?” Lance poked at his arm, smiling.

Keith was pulled from his stupor, and he nodded gratefully at Lance. It wasn’t the first time Lance had come to Keith’s rescue during this feast. Or even in the last twenty-four hours, Keith reminded himself. It was no good worrying about it now, anyway. Keith would get answers when he got them. 

Sighing, he turned his attention the sheet cake Hunk set in the center of the table, Pidge moving presents out of the way to accommodate it. It was adorned with a long curved sword bearing a purple insignia near the hilt--the Blade of Marmora. Keith’s stomach churned, recognizing his own Galra blade.

“That knife seems pretty important to you and I know you don't really know the Blade or whatever very well, but I figured it's kinda like finding out you have a distant relative you never met, ya know?” Hunk chortled. “Besides, we're all gonna be buddies soon anyway, right?” Hunk face dimmed. “We don’t have a bunch of candles, but I do have this lighter thing. Best I could do.” His lips shrugged in apology.

Keith’s eyes widened as the group burst into a boisterous rendition of Happy Birthday, Lance and Hunk struggling to sing louder than one other, the blue paladin slapping Keith’s shoulder periodically, brimming with enthusiasm. Lance’s voice wasn't bad, he noted, but Pidge… Pidge _had_ to he doing that on purpose. Even Coran and Allura joined in, apparently given a quick lesson on the song, but not enough, since Coran somehow managed to get the words wrong and neither knew much of the tune. Silence blanketed the table, the paladins and Alteans staring at him expectantly. Hunk proffered the “candle” and Keith puffed it out after a confused beat of awkward silence. Lance whooped and Pidge cheered, the whole room clapping and Keith thought his face was on fire.

Hunk dished out servings to everyone, starting with Keith, who bit into the chocolate cake hesitantly. It was thick and rich, almost like a brownie. The paladins and Alteans happily consumed it, exchanging stories of the worst desserts they’d ever eaten, Coran and Allura winning hands-down, sharing a variety of experiences with the delicacies of foreign worlds.

As soon as Pidge had finished downing a second massive helping of cake, the young Holt started organizing gifts in the center of the table, waiting for the others to finish. Pidge had Hunk announce his gift to Keith--a five-course meal of Keith’s choice to be made whenever he so desired, supplies permitting. Pidge was next, scooting a small flat object his way. Keith nervously opened the paper, decorated with haphazard yellow and black stars. Inside was a handheld console.

“It syncs up with the training deck computers,” Pidge explained, reaching across the table to tap a few buttons. “Look at the training regimens.” Keith flipped through a number of screens. 

“You made me a new set of warm-ups?”

“Well, I was observing your stats in the computer the other day in real time. The data suggested certain muscle groupings weren’t as well warmed up as others, and experienced greater stress during your skirmishes. And I already messed with the system to program that gladiator to attack Lance,” Pidge turned to face Lance briefly, “which I am very sorry for.” Lance shrugged unconcerned and Pidge turned back to Keith, “So I figured this is something you might use. Anyway, Happy Birthday! Is it okay?”

“It’s great. Thanks, Pidge.” Keith smiled softly at the smallest paladin.

Coran went next, “It’s really from both of us,” he said, indicating Allura. There was a drawing of the Voltron insignia across the paper in his signature red. Probably Coran’s doing. Pulling it gently apart, Keith pulled out a box, foreign lettering scrawled across in bold prints and bright colors, a clear section revealing some kind of gadget within, a comb on one end and a much less friendly looking object on the other. “It’s a moustache comb and care kit!” Coran announced. “Nineteen years of age, already a man. Well now you can carry the true mark of manhood, and all the accessories one would need to care for the noblest of facial hair.”

“Uh… thanks,” Keith forced a smile at Coran’s gesture.

“Coran,” Allura began, trailing off.

“Yes, well, I suppose it could also be used to shave _unwanted_ facial hair. Whichever you prefer. Your choice.”

“Thank you,” Keith spoke, steeling himself and deliberately locking eyes with Allura for a moment, “to both of you.”

“Mine next,” said Shiro, grabbing a small box and sliding it in front of Keith, the paper simply stating _To: Keith From: Takashi_. Keith gently tugged the paper away, revealing a small vial of some kind of liquid. “It’s a strengthening oil. It’s certified to harden any luxite material. Apply directly and buff it into the blade no more than once a week, depending on usage.”

“Wow,” Keith breathed, “thanks, Shiro.” Keith tried to swallow against the knot in his throat, unsure why the simple object elicited such a strong response. He took a deep breath.

“Here you go, mullet,” Lance said, tossing another package in front of him, a stick figure performing an elaborate dance in lines across the paper.

“You got me a second gift?” Keith puzzled, the package felt squishy in his hands like the first. _Did he knit two sweaters?_ No, this was too small.

“I am a man of many talents, mullet,” Lance reminded, leaning closer to him and smirking. “I had some extra time and materials and I thought it’d be fun. It’s not as cool as luxite-hardening oil, though. Don’t get your hopes up.” Keith carefully removed the paper, and out popped--and this Keith would never have guessed--a stuffed hippo.

“How did you even…?”

“Needle felting,” Lance replied. “I’m telling you, man, any craft, any craft at all, I can do it.” He punctuated his response with a pair of thumbs indicating sharply back at himself. Keith stared at the hippo’s tiny black eyes and nostrils and smirked. 

“You did a great job. You are the Craft Master,” Keith relented. 

“I have much to teach you, my young Padawan.” Lance smiled, leaning forward and resting his crossed arms on the table. 

“So what do you think, Keith?” Pidge asked, “you wanna try out those warm-ups?” Keith looked at the pile before him, the mess on the table of paper and food strewn on every surface of the table.

“Don’t even think about it,” Lance cut off his thoughts. “I’m on cleanup duty. It’s my very official important Voltron duty.” Lance smirked at his joke. “You’re the birthday boy, after all.” Keith nodded, smile growing wider. 

“I really do,” he told Pidge, grasping the tablet as he stood. Then Keith realized with dread that he might actually have to say something after all, as every set of eyes rest on him. _Quiznak_. What did people say about their own birthday? Probably best to keep it simple, straight to the point. “Thanks for the birthday party, guys. This was really good.”

“You’re welcome,” Hunk replied, and was followed by an out-of-sync chorus of “Happy Birthday”s and one “You got it” from Lance, punctuated by a single finger gun.

“Alright,” Keith said, walking toward the door, then pausing, looking back hesitantly. “I’ll… see you all later, then.” Pidge joined him, passing through the door and Keith internally kicked himself.

 

\---------------

 

Pidge helped him set up the new sequence, and Keith felt pleasant activation in the muscle groupings he had previously missed. Hunk called up to Pidge near his last set, so the green paladin left to meet up with him, and Keith started his sparring routine alone, but he didn’t mind the solitude. Keith spun and kicked, ducking this way and that. The warm-up was already helping; Keith leaped forward to avoid a blow he’d received in a similar situation only a few days before.

“That’s pretty impressive, Keith,” a voice called, slow clapping from the entrance. “I remember you biffing that pretty epicly not long ago.”

“End simulation,” Keith spoke breathlessly. “Lance. What’s up?”

“All your stuff is put away,” Lance offered, glancing around the room at nothing in particular, eyes resting everywhere but on Keith. “I kept the wrapping paper for you. I didn’t want to toss it if you wanted to keep it.”

“I did want to keep it, thanks,” Keith replied, putting his bayard away. He walked over to Lance, who was still standing in the doorway. 

Lance clapped, “Oh, so you _can_ say it.”

“Say what?” Keith swiped sweaty bangs from his eyes.

“Nothing. It just seems like you thanked everyone else for their gifts but me. Even Coran and Allura’s ridiculous moustache trimmer,” Lance said and scrunched up his nose. 

“And care kit,” Keith finished, placing his hand on his hip. “But I thanked you.”

“Nope. You called me crafty and said, like, ‘good job’ or something lame. I was just worried maybe…” Lance fidgeted, still not looking him in the eyes, “did you not… _like_ them?” Lance’s voice was small, his face slanting straight down toward the ground. “I mean, it’s fine if you didn’t. You don’t have to pretend or anything.”

“What? No, it’s not like that,” Keith’s thick eyebrows drew together forming a crease on his forehead. 

“Then what’s the deal?” Lance pressed. “Did you not… like _me_?” Lance finally looked him in the eyes, his usual smile drawn down into a worried frown.

“What? No!” Keith practically shouted, and Lance’s eyes widened in response. “No, I mean, ‘no I don’t _not_ like you’, not ‘no I _don’t_ like you’.” Lance’s brow knitted together. “You know what I mean,” Keith said, and Lance shook his head.

“No, I don’t think I do. Look, if it’s not the presents and it’s not me...what is it?” Lance put his hands on his hips, leaning forward into Keith’s personal space.

Keith looked down, shying away from Lance’s close proximity, “Thank you is just so short, I guess.” A slow blush creeped up his cheeks, arms crossed tightly in front of him, “You’ve done a lot for me, and not just today.” Keith bit his lip and shrugged, “Thank just seems so… not enough.”

Lance’s jaw dropped and he retreated back into his own space, a dusty red glow on his cheeks, “Oh.” He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and leaned back on his heels. “Oh,” he said again lamely.

Keith chanced a fleeting gaze up at Lance, "I'm not very good with people, and I know we fight a lot but," Keith sighed forcing the words, "it's not because I don't like you. It's more like, that it's fun to talk with you. You're easy to talk to and I can make fun of you or trip you up so that you'll maybe say something funny."

Lance paused, then chuckled, falling back into his usual self, “So you admit it,” Lance said, pointing a long finger at Keith, “I _am_ The Fun One!” Keith smirked.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Something just like that.”

Lance smiled and hit his shoulder into Keith’s, “So how’s your birthday going so far? Everything you hoped it would be?”

“And then some,” Keith replied, still not quite sure that today wasn’t some big dream. “Honestly, birthdays were never a big thing for me.”

“Yeah, it did seem kinda low-key, your childhood ones, I mean.” Lance looked down at him through dark brown lashes with pity on his face. Keith wasn’t used to being pitied, and he found the sensation ate at him. But it was better than disgust.

“It’s strange enough to have everyone just… staring at me, looking at me all the time,” Keith said, trailing off peering up slightly at Lance, he took a deep breath and continued. “But having everyone looking at me right now, when I’m not even sure who I see in the mirror, it’s just worse.”

“Emo Keith makes an appearance,” Lance smirked and quirked his hip out to the side.

“I’m serious, Lance,” Keith insisted. “This whole thing… with the Galra…”

“I know,” Lance put his hands up defensively, looking up and off to the side guiltily. “And it probably sucked having Hunk prodding you with questions all the time. He means well--I mean he still thinks Mexico encompasses the entirety of Latin America sometimes, but... He just doesn’t always think before he talks.”

“This coming from _you_?” Keith replied, eyebrows raised.

“Hey! I am a very thoughtful individual!” Lance growled, jabbing his left pointer finger at Keith’s face. Keith narrowed his eyes. From this close, he could see a small bandage almost indiscernible where it blended into the skin of Lance’s finger. Keith reached out and grabbed the hand, turning it over and finding two other bandages on the inside of Lance’s hand. He knew the bandages would eventually fuse with the blue paladin’s hand, breaking down to become part of the skin, but it worried him that Lance hadn’t mentioned it.

“What happened?” Keith demanded, fingers tracing around a bandaged wound on his palm.

“Occupational hazard,” Lance replied, but there was something strange in Lance’s voice, a quiver and a tension that concerned him. Keith looked up, and saw Lance’s bright red cheeks and wide eyes, right hand scratching nervously at his neck. Then he looked back at the hand, then back up at Lance. Keith dropped the hand abruptly. “Needle felting is kind of violent as crafts go. It’s basically stabbing fluff with a tiny metal cactus until it changes shape. I got myself pretty good.”

“You didn’t have to make me a second present,” Keith objected.

“Happy Birthday,” Lance said, ignoring Keith’s protestations.

“Thanks,” Keith muttered in reply. Lance looked down at Keith’s empty hands. 

“You’re not practicing with the Galra blade?”

“I… I left it in my room,” Keith admitted, adjusting his feet. “I just don’t know what it means that I’m part Galra. It’s my birthday today, and every time it comes I wonder,” Keith bit his lip, sucking in a breath before continuing, “I wonder why my mom left me, if she wished I’d never been born, if she regretted having me. And then I find out I’m Galra, that it’s in my blood, and I just don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.” Keith crossed his arms protectively around himself, still not looking at Lance, scared that if he did he would lose his nerve, “I mean, is my Galra blood through... _her_ , or my dad? And there’s the Blade of Marmora and they’re _good_ Galra, but Zarkon and the Empire far outnumber them, so what does that say about me? Am I… _evil_ by nature because I’m Galra? Or is everybody evil by nature, and we all just pretend to be good?” His hands gripped tightly on his arms, fingertips turning pale white, “I guess until I figure out what all this means, I don’t know if I should be using the blade.” Keith paused, waiting for some kind of response, eyes flitting up at Lance, and back away again.

“What are you _talking_ about?” Lance asked, a look of consternation filling his brow. “It doesn’t mean anything.” Lance stepped in close, peering directly into Keith’s eyes, and Keith saw the lights of the training deck reflecting off of Lance’s bright ultramarine eyes, so close they flooded his vision. 

“It’s like you said before, right? You’re from Texas,” Lance said, tipping his head to the side and backhanding Keith lightly on his chest. “You’re still Keith. You don’t stop being a human from Texas just because you have some Galra blood. Your mom leaving doesn’t change that you snuck into the Garrison with Shiro that time, or that you used to watch a movie and get a special meal on your birthday. It doesn’t take away all the time you spent studying to be a pilot, or our _epic_ rivalry.” Lance smirked with half his face, running his fingers along his scalp, looking up for a moment, then those baby blues gazed back down, locking on to his own Byzantium eyes. 

“You’re still you, Keith. If you want to find out about your family or the Galra people or whatever, great. But if you do or don’t, it doesn’t change who you are.”

His mind flashed with an image of Pidge, raging to Keith about how rude Allura had been to him, completely oblivious to the Princess’ newfound hatred of her part-Galra paladin. It flashed to Shiro’s present, a tool to use on the very blade that taught him of his birthright. And here was Lance, inches away, so close Keith could feel the heat of Lance’s breath on his face, proclaiming that none of it mattered, Keith was Keith.

Keith wasn’t sure if he believed that, or rather he was sure he didn’t. But a part of him seemed to peek out from behind a knot in his heart, hoping to believe more than actually trusting the words. 

“So.. if I turned full Galra, purple skin and everything, would you freak out? Would I still be me then?”

“I dunno,” Lance began, “but I think it would be pretty hilarious.” Lance laughed, and Keith could see the blue paladin’s eyes flitting over his face, trying to imagine Keith with fuzzy purple ears.

“Ass,” Keith scoffed, and Lance laughed, that grin of his spreading across his every feature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, sorry I'm getting this out so late! Happy Birthday, Keith!
> 
> The final installment is set for Halloween, but I might get it done early since I have so much more time this week. We'll see!
> 
> A big thank you to GlassAlice for a phenomenal editing assist. Thanks! Check out [GlassAlice on Tumblr](http://yuzuling.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you want, you can [check me out on tumblr, too](http://starbuck-7.tumblr.com/).


	5. Hunk's Homemade Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How much candy have you eaten?” Hunk asked Lance, loading plates of food.
> 
> “I am saving my Trick-or-Treat candy for later,” Lance proclaimed proudly, piling on three mini pizzas and dousing them unceremoniously with a handful of chips. Hunk grimaced. He didn’t mind food touching that was meant to be eaten together, but the chips were going to get sogged by the oil from the pizza, the pizza in turn getting chip flavoring on them…
> 
> “So, apart from the twelve you ate before the party started?” Hunk asked, and Lance yawned, eyes squinting shut as his head leaned away from the crowd. “Are you crashing already? You shouldn’t have binged all that sugar.”
> 
> “Ridiculous,” Lance said. “There is no such thing as a sugar binge on Halloween.”
> 
> “I don’t think Halloween gives your pancreas magical powers to process extra sugar,” Keith offered, placing some nacho-flavored chips gently next to his pizza like a civilized human being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final Chapter! And it's only one day late! Sorry, folks, but squishing the last two chapters into 10 days was a nightmare. 
> 
> Anyway, the final installment of this semi-Stand-Alone series was written as a Voltron Amino prompt. This week's prompt is Halloween! (Surprise! Bet you didn't see that one coming! *wink wink*)
> 
> There is a lovely Shallura scene in this chapter that I hope you like. Also some pre-relationship Klance, which Hunk and Pidge will be very amused by. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Lance rapped his right knuckles gently against the lefthand arch of the door frame, leaning his free arm against the wall beside it to support himself, a squishy ball of knitted yarn held in his left hand out of sight. He wasn’t in any rush. It’d taken a good many more hours than he expected, but he’d finished everything he needed to do for Pidge, Shiro, and Coran, and Hunk had what he needed for his contribution to the party. Everything was going according to plan. 

“Just a sec!” an mezzo voice called with surprising force from deep within the room. Lance stopped knocking, head cocking to the right, waiting until the door swished open. When it did, a puff of air swished his hair back a bit and he smiled down at the honey-haired paladin in front of him, whose eyes widened in anticipation. “You have it?!” 

“All yours, Pidgers,” Lance replied, but simply leaned back a bit, keeping his left arm poised outside the doorway, “I hope you appreciate how long it took me to put this together for you. And if you get any ideas about sneaking a peek--”

“I told you not to call me that. And I’m not gonna look at your costume before the party, Lance,” Pidge insisted with a groan, holding out a small hand inches from his face. Lance pulled the bundle away from the wall, settling it into Pidge’s outstretched fingers, which grasped eagerly at the dark byzantium-colored yarn. Pidge smiled, both hands unraveling the bundle into a long knit swatch and wrapping it expertly around that slender neck. Pidge bounded out of the room with the long purple scarf dangling by both arms. Taking a sniff of cold air, Pidge closed amber eyes, soaking in the cold artificial atmosphere of the hallway. A smile spread across Pidge’s serene face. Eyes whipping open, Pidge continued, “It’s perfect. Thanks, Lance!”

“No problem,” Lance said. “No peeking, though. I’m serious. I’m putting a lot of trust in--”

“Oh, shut up, I already promised,” Pidge replied testily. “Hey, what time is it?”

“It was ten doboshes til the eleventh varga when I left my room,” Lance replied.

“Oh, quiznak!” Pidge exclaimed, skidding back into the room. “I’m supposed to meet Hunk to do the treats for tonight!”

“Relax. I’m headed that way, too,” Lance offered, “If you’re late, you can just blame me. Hunk can’t stay mad at this face.” Lance indicated his own visage in a sweeping motion with his right hand.

“Yeah, okay, be right back,” said Pidge, rushing back to the door and slapping the door controls so they nearly closed on the point of Lance’s nose, who ducked back to keep it from marring his precious profile.

“Harsh,” Lance grumbled, but waited patiently until Pidge was ready and the pair headed to the kitchens. 

It had been a rough couple of days, far too eventful for Lance’s liking. Not that he didn’t enjoy a good adventure--being part of Voltron had lead to some of the most fun he’d had his entire life--but he missed getting to sit down and relax after. Today’s festivities provided some of the rest he wanted, but in his enthusiasm to make everything just to his liking Lance had forgotten his mother’s voice warning, “meterse en camisa de once varas.” 

“Hey, Hunk, buddy, pal,” Lance chimed as they reached the doorway.

“So you’re the one holding up Pidge, huh?” Hunk asked, peering over his shoulder back at them, but he smiled and Lance returned with a grin of his own.

“You got me, my dude,” Lance chuckled, sharing a knowing glance with Pidge. 

“Sorry, Hunk,” Pidge offered, “so, wha’d’ya need?”

“Oh, go ahead and wash up,” Hunk instructed, gently stirring a warm pot as he indicated a cleaning station, “and then we’re making caramel apples.”

“Awesome!” Pidge shouted, dashing through the kitchen and cleaning off hands as quickly as could be before skipping into place beside Hunk. The tails of the purple scarf bounced with each movement and Lance smirked in appreciation. _Damn, I’m good…_

“I thought you couldn’t get apples?” Lance asked.

“No, I said we didn’t _have_ any apples,” Hunk corrected, adjusting the temperature rods. “The Chaitari had a pretty close fruit. Though, to be fair, it’s more like an asian pear. Should be delicious, though, especially with the caramel.”

“Everything tastes good drenched in caramel,” said Pidge, leaning against the station next to Hunk.

“Hey, you got those gourds for me?” Lance inquired, stepping forward.

“Oh, right!” Hunk replied. “Hey, stir this for me, Pidge?”

“Like this?” Pidge replied, spoon in hand.

“A little slower.” Hunk grabbed the wooden utensil and demonstrated the pace over Pidge’s tiny hand, “Perfect.”

“I know better than to mess up your kitchen vibe here,” Lance offered. “I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“You don’t mess up my kitchen vibe,” protested Hunk, passing by Lance with a disbelieving look, “I like having you around.”

“What about Thanksgiving last year?”

“Oh, well, Thanksgiving is a totally different thing…” Hunk said sheepishly, scratching at the back of his head. “Here they are!” he nearly shouted, tossing both hands out to indicate a set of large squash in varying shapes. “I got everything you should need to carve, too.”

“You picked out some great ones! Thanks, buddy,” Lance said. “I’ll start bringing them down. Let me know if you need me to set up anything in the Lounge for you.”

“I’ll keep you posted.”

Lance hoisted the three largest gourds, all a green-yellow hue, up into his arms, the first two resting in the crooks of his elbows,and the third held between his hands. They weren’t exactly pumpkins--they were too tall by half and too thin to boot, along with the coloring, splotches of green tinging the rippling yellow flesh. Hunk said they ended up tasting more like potatoes, but they were hollow like pumpkins, and that’s really what Lance needed them for. Turning down the last corner before the Lounge, Lance walked straight into Keith, who gratefully grabbed the center pumpkin as it knocked free of his grasp. The pair stood in stunned silence for half a beat before Keith recovered enough to ask a question.

“I assume you want this back?”

“Oh, yeah, thanks Keith,” Lance said, offering his hands, but Keith pulled the gourd back toward his chest and away from Lance’s grasp.

“Are you just heading to the Lounge?”

“Yeah, I’m setting up for tonight.”

“Need any help?”

“Seriously?” Lance couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips. “You want to help decorate again?” Keith’s brows tensed together.

“Not if you’re going to be like that,” said Keith, tossing the squash back into Lance’s hands roughly, passing him on his right side and proceeding down the hall.

“I was kidding, Keith!” Lance called out, spinning back to watch Keith’s retreating back, black shirt taut as he strode savagely down the hall away from him, anger set in every muscle. Lance gaped after him. “Or I was just surprised or whatever! Listen, I promise I won’t say anything about your craft skills! No joking, no nothing!” Keith paused his step, turning back to face Lance. “I promise I won’t make fun of you! Again,” he amended.

“One word, Lance, and I’m serious,” Keith warned.

“I promise. Scout’s honor,” Lance replied. 

“You were a boy scout?” Keith challenged, the lopsided suspicion in his brows clearly speaking his judgement as he sauntered back down the hall.

“A what?” Lance replied.

“A boy scout. ‘Scout’s honor’.”

“Oh, is that a thing? I thought it was just a saying.” 

Keith sighed, snatching the center pumpkin-alternate, fingers sliding against Lance’s nailbeds as he whipped around, turning back toward the Lounge. Lance pondered for a moment that despite the apparently steely demeanor he tried to give off, Keith seemed a lot less frosty lately. Lance’s brain halted on the word, the image of Keith cold and shivering at at his side flashing through his mind, nearly frozen to the surface of a planet during a deadly five-and-a-half-hour winter. Lance shook his head, jogging after the dark-haired paladin.

“So, you don’t have to work on your costume or anything?” Lance asked, covering the distance and shortening his stride to match Keith’s. The red paladin’s shirt stretched over his biceps as they flexed to hold the weight of the gourd. 

Lance broke his eyes away from Keith’s arms and looked up to meet steely aubergine orbs, “I finished last night,” the dark-haired youth replied. “Pidge helped me.” 

“Pidge?” A single eyebrow raised incredulously as he cast a glance at Keith. “Pidge helped with your costume? So I guess you weren’t kidding when you said the two of you talk.” A brief wave of confusion swept through him. _He could’ve come to me…_

Keith blinked back at him, “Why would I joke about that?”

“I don’t know,” Lance said, “you two just haven’t seemed that close in the past.” Lance hung his head, frowning at the pumpkins in his arms. “I mean it’s no big deal, I was just… surprised is all.”

“Pidge…” Keith began, but trailed off. Lance threw a side-eye at Keith and saw his face scrunch in consternation. Lance sighed to himself, pushing away a pang of jealousy. Man, Keith was taking this WAY too seriously. 

“Relax, Keith,” Lance said, tossing his left shoulder out to knock Keith’s right and the red paladin broke his forward gaze, peering over at Lance. Keith’s dark eyes held a lot of secrets but the bump had snapped him out of whatever trance he’d been stuck in. “We’re not talking about defeating Zarkon, here. Pidge is your friend, so…” Lance prompted with eyebrows raised in waiting.

Keith schooled his face into a neutral expression, his thick eyebrows the only hint of hidden emotions roiling below the surface, dark brows knotting at the base of his forehead, “Pidge spent time with me after the luncheon. I’d… just found out I was Galra the day before, and then Allura…”

Lance’s face scrunched up as if he’d eaten something sour, “Oh yeah, Allura was acting really _middle school_ ,” Lance said. “I mean, who gives people the silent treatment and cuts them out of the conversation like that?” 

“You noticed?” Keith asked. His tone seemed off, and when Lance gazed his direction, he thought Keith looked hurt. His eyes were glued to the floor and his shoulders bowed forward slightly, his mouth quirked down into a slight frown.

Lance backpedaled, trying to reassure the moping boy, “It’s not like I knew that’s what she was doing at the time,” Lance clarified. “I thought she was ignoring _me_. I just figured she was mad about having to deal with Blade. It's a good thing Pidge had it under control, 'cause I honestly didn't figure it out until you and I talked.” Lance leaned a little closer letting his arm brush gently against the other boy as they walked, trying to send mental waves of positivity through each brief contact. Keith nodded at the ground. 

“Yeah, Pidge was great,” Keith agreed. His face was still doing that ridiculous broody thing, but Lance felt pressure on his arm as Keith leaned slightly into their point of contact. Keith kept his head down as the pair walked into the Lounge and began unloading supplies on a table set near the door. 

“Allura will cool off,” Lance assured him, breaking away from Keith’s warm arm and setting down his two gourds. Lance divesting his pockets of the various craft supplies he’d brought from his room. “It’s gonna take time.”

“What if she doesn’t?” Keith kicked at the ground in frustration, his voice low and accusing. 

Lance turned to Keith, blue eyes firm and fierce, “Then she’ll have a problem with more than just you. We’re a team, Keith. If she’s gonna keep coming down on you like this forever, she’s gonna have a huge problem with me because I’ll tell her to stuff her attitude straight up her quiznak.”

Keith snorted, the beginnings of a smile pulling into existence, held just shy of blooming. “You really don’t get what quiznak means, do you?”

Lance held a pointed finger out in defiance, “I swear I used it right that time.”

“You really didn’t.” Keith shook his head, the small smirk finally tweaking the corner of his mouth on the right side just enough, and Lance smiled back at him. Definitely less frosty. “So what are we doing here?”

“Pumpkin carving, of course,” Lance indicated the table before them with both hands. “There’s more supplies to pick up in the kitchen if you’ll help me there. Then we’ll do bobbing for apples over there, because it’s a classic, it’s in, like every other Halloween movie I’ve ever seen. I’ve got a couple stations in the works over there so people can do different crafts, mostly paper pumpkins and coloring. We’ll do Trick-or-Treating at three places around the room. Not a lot of candy, but Hunk’s making a bunch of other treats. Oh, and Coran has a play in the works for us. Should be pretty interesting since, from what I understand, he doesn’t really have a firm grasp on what Halloween even is.” Keith gave Lance an odd look, pausing and considering the room. Lance wondered if he’d gone on talking too long again. He just got excited sometimes, and it definitely got him in trouble. The words echoed in his head, mete tremenda muela… 

“You’ve really got this wired.” Keith said with a bit of awe reaching his voice despite his efforts to keep it neutral. 

“I’m from a big family,” Lance said simply, scratching his neck nervously. “This is actually a little small for what I’m used to. With my siblings and my niece and nephew running around there’s usually a dozen of us competing for food and a part in the conversation in about half the space.”

“Huh,” Keith replied, “this is usually a little big for me.” He stood next to Lance, getting a better vantage point to observe the full room.

Lance looked down at Keith, meticulously trimmed eyebrows scrunched up in worry, “Yeah, you don’t have much family left, do you?” Keith looked up at Lance, an unknown expression winding itself across his sharp features.

Finally he assented, looking away from concerned ocean blue, “Yeah, not much.”

“So, ready to go grab us some supplies?” Lance asked, nudging Keith’s shoulder with a faux punch. Keith’s eyes widened a bit, and his eyes shifted away. Lance panicked slightly, wondering if he’d crossed a line. Maybe he’d miss read the situation and they weren’t close enough friends for that kind of contact.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Keith replied, and Lance followed with one more glance at that retreating back, face flushing as he jogged to catch up.

 

\---------------

 

Shiro met at the bridge at the appointed time. The others were busy with preparations for the Halloween Party, but they had last-minute preparations of their own to complete. Shiro strode through the large doors, spying Allura at the controls as she pulled up a starmap and adjusted the coordinates.

“Princess,” he announced his presence, crossing to stand at her side. Allura bent her neck to watch him approach, a smile spreading across her features, eyes brightening. 

“Thank you for coming, Shiro,” she replied. “I don’t want to interrupt the festivities, but I need to discuss a few matters before our meeting with the Blade tomorrow.”

“I understand,” Shiro replied. “What’s all this?” He indicated the room in a sweeping gesture, head gazing around in every direction.

“I’m just updating our information stores, going over any changes in the program Pidge put together. I could use your help, in fact. I don’t want the Blade thinking we need them for information.”

“But we _do_ need their information,” Shiro replied with a knowing glance. “The Blade have resources from within Zarkon’s forces. Not just extrapolations of potential danger zones, but hard, actionable intel. That will be crucial to our success in any endeavors against Zarkon.”

“And they will need the Castleship and Voltron if they wish to strike any meaningful blow at Zarkon’s forces.”

“That’s right,” Shiro acknowledged, nodding as he observed her tense features, muscles taut from head to toe. “I know this is difficult for you, Princess. You’ve lived your whole life under the threat of war from the Galra Empire.” She sighed.

“How can I trust _one_ of those things, let alone an army of them, to fight at my side and not stab me in it?” Allura furiously tapped at the controls, lifting her hands to activate hologram shifts. Shiro grasped Allura’s left hand as it shot out in his direction, moving the holomap in a particularly violent action. She looked at him curiously and Shiro smiled down at her.

“Well, you won’t be alone, for one,” Shiro said, smoothly releasing her hand. “You have me, and the other paladins, at your side. Not that you need me to be your savior. I think I distinctly remember you being strong enough to take care of yourself.”

“I am,” she replied, a tinge of pride coloring the clear peal of her voice. Her eyes gazed at his, those purple and blue rings sparkling, cosmic constellations gazing back at him in their reflection, and Shiro’s breath caught. “Thank you, for all you have done for me and for the team. If it weren’t for you, we would never have gotten this opportunity to defeat Zarkon once and for all.”

“Of course, Princess,” he replied, but his breathing hadn’t calmed, and all he could see were those galactic eyes and the curve of her lips as they spoke. He struggled to meet her gaze. In a moment, the Princess had stepped forward, instantly closing the short distance between them. “Allura?” 

She smiled, joy beaming through her delicate features and softening her eyes, still glistening with star patterns, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use my name before.” Shiro almost cursed. It wasn’t by accident that the Princess had never heard her name cross his lips; he had chosen never to speak it. In part it was a matter of formality, never to use someone’s personal name without their permission, especially someone of her status. But Shiro knew the truth was far more personal. She was the Princess because she could never be more. She was always his Princess, an unattainable ideal, and never a real breathing person who could be with him. Because that was the way it had to be. “I rather like it,” she continued, rolling her head to one side.

“I shouldn’t have…” Shiro couldn’t speak further, because at that moment Allura, impossibly, stepped closer and a crown of silvery hair shimmered in the glow of the star map. 

“If you wish to call me by my name, I wouldn’t mind, you know,” the Princess offered, craning a long, bronze neck up to look at him.

“I lead the paladins of Voltron,” Shiro offered, all he could say to explain himself, helplessly swimming in her gaze. Allura laughed, and as she laughed stars danced across her irises. Shiro was dizzy with the sight. 

“I am aware of the fact.”

“I mean to say… We’re going up against Zarkon, our toughest battle yet. We can’t afford any… entanglements complicating our team dynamic.”

“Yes,” Allura replied, taking in a deep breath and heaving a sigh, eyes falling even as they continued to sparkle. “I suppose you’re right. And… this is what you want?” Her eyes flicked back to his, and Shiro froze.

Was this what he wanted? Of course not. He wanted to catch her in his arms and never let go. But what would that do to the rest of the team? What would it do to Allura and himself? Allura’s gaze softened, a sad smile shrugging at the corner of her lips. She nodded knowingly, one delicate yet powerful foot stepping backwards, shifting her body away from him. Shiro felt cold air shift into the place where Allura had stood. Her hair glimmered as she turned away, her downcast eyes losing their luster.

God help him.

Shiro reached out, grasping hold of Allura’s shoulder as she turned away. She looked back at him in surprise and anticipation as she spun, and Shiro did not disappoint. He wrapped Allura tightly to him, artificial hand laced through a swath of shockingly smooth hair around her back, real hand bracing behind her neck as he brought her lips to his. Worried he might have pressed too far too fast, Shiro tried to pull back a little, but Allura brought a hand to his cheek, drawing it closer and leaning herself deeper into his kiss. 

It felt like a small door in the back of Shiro’s mind had broken open, all the tension leading to this moment flooding out, threatening to whisk him away in the current. Allura pulled him forward, sliding her slender arms down to wrap beneath his own and the ground never felt more solid beneath his feet. He felt the gentleness of her touch between his scapula, but with that power, that strength that was all hers and Shiro couldn’t help but smile. It was one of the things that made him fall for her. Allura smiled against him in return, and he slowly pulled back with his neck, gazing down at her eyes dazzling back up at him. 

“I assume this is the kind of entanglement you were trying to avoid?” Allura inquired with a smirk.

“Yes, this kind of thing,” Shiro said, using his left hand to shift her stunning cascade of hair away from her face. “I really shouldn’t have done that.” Allura smiled, shaking her head.

“I’m glad you did,” she replied, fingers gliding across the muscles of his back. “But I do believe I was also somewhat involved in the process.”

“The timing couldn’t be worse,” Shiro offered.

“I disagree,” Allura protested, matter-of-factly. “So much of our future is uncertain in the fight against Zarkon. This is one thing we know of what’s to come.” She rose, not on her toes but with her shapeshifting ability, until she was of a height with him. Allura leaned forward kissing him once again, and a pain in Shiro’s heart he hadn’t noticed before began to ease. She settled back, but grasped his right hand in her left as she stepped away, fingers lacing together. Nothing in the world had felt so terrifyingly natural to Shiro in his life. He tightened his fingers around hers as she led him to the console and they marked out patterns in the hypnotic glimmer of the stars, hoping to secure the rest of their future like the fingers intertwined at their sides.

 

\---------------

 

The kitchen was buzzing, and Pidge had a hard time keeping up with Hunk’s tempo as he whirled around the room from this dish to that. The caramel apple-like things smelled absolutely fabulous, but so did the caramels and truffles, which Pidge had carefully wrapped in squares of paper per Hunk’s instruction so they could be handed out while “Trick-or-Treating” around the Lounge. 

“Alright, Pidge,” Hunk announced, hands resting on his hips, a satisfied smile on his face as he surveyed their dishes. “I think we’re ready to bring these babies down to the Lounge.”

“Awesome,” Pidge replied, lifting two covered trays of mini pizzas. Hunk grabbed the two bags of candies in one hand, and scooped up a heating jug full of proper cider in the other. “Hey, thanks for letting me help you today. I know I wasn’t much good to you.”

“Of course you were,” Hunk dismissed. “I could never have gotten all this done from scratch in only a couple hours without your help.”

“But I just stirred and stuff.”

“You know what happens if you don’t stir?” Hunk asked.

“It burns?” Pidge guessed with a shrug. Hunk chuckled.

“Pretty much. Either that or I would have had to nix the truffles. Or the pizza. Or the chips. Or the cookies.”

“No!” Pidge gasped, a completely involuntary response, and Hunk laughed even harder, Pidge’s face twisting as it flushed in embarrassment. 

“You were very helpful,” Hunk reiterated. 

Pidge had a lot fun with Hunk working on electronics and scientific principles, but getting the chance to spend a little time in his element in the kitchen was definitely a challenge. Pidge didn’t feel at home in the kitchen the same way Hunk did, or the way Pidge did in a room full of computer equipment, but it took up just the right amount of brainpower, and with Hunk’s patient instruction, Pidge felt more comfortable by the end of their cooking frenzy. The unfamiliarity was a welcome distraction in light of everything about to happen. All their missions were dangerous, but trying to take down the Emperor of the Galra Empire was about as risky as it got. Pidge tried not to think about what might happen.

 _It’s no use worrying about what might happen to me_ , Pidge reasoned. _Except I’m the only one looking for Dad and Matt…_ That was the real issue. Not that Pidge wasn’t afraid of death. _I’m not an idiot..._ But the thought that there might be no rescue for the Holt family, that was unbearable. So Pidge had to survive. Or else, why had they all come so far in the first place? 

The pair turned down the hallway, spying the open doorway.

“Hey, Lance,” Hunk called out as they entered the Lounge.

“Hey!” Lance called, turning his body around from the apple bobbing station and pointing to the far corner of the room. “Right over there. The whole table’s yours.”

“Thanks,” Hunk replied, and he and Pidge brought their goods to the far table and arranged them nicely the way Hunk liked them, even bothering to have some displayed higher than others by placing boxes under a tablecloth. Hunk didn’t do things by halves.

“Hey, Keith,” Pidge called out once the hors d'oeuvres were settled. “You’re helping at the booths?”

“He’s in charge of pumpkin carving,” said Lance with a grin, practically leaping to Keith’s side and slapping a hand on his shoulderblade. “Crafts involving knives seem to be right up his alley. He cut out that one for me,” Lance said, indicating a decorative pumpkin outlining the silhouette of cat with eyes and nose floating in the center. 

“That’s pretty good, Keith,” Pidge praised, and Keith looked away first toward Lance, then toward a blank patch of wall. 

“Lance made the design, I just cut it out for him.” Pidge smirked at the pink tinge coloring Keith’s cheeks, embarrassed by the praise.

“Don’t sell yourself short, man,” Lance began, “you’re just better with a blade than me. I already have designs to choose from, so Keith can help you all cut them out if you have trouble with the tricky parts.”

“I wonder if you can inherit an affinity with knives and swords,” Hunk mused.

Lance stepped between Keith and Hunk, “Would you stop it with that?” Lance gave Hunk a pointed glance before slapping Hunk’s shoulder and leading him away. “Come on, Hunk, I gotta show you the craft table.” He turned back slightly shooting a wink in Keith’s direction. It happened so fast Pidge wasn’t sure if Keith caught it.

“I’m gonna go get dressed,” Pidge called to Hunk’s retreating back. “You need anything else?”

Hunk smiled behind him at Pidge, “No, I’ll grab the rest when I go get my costume. See you soon!”

“You coming?” Pidge flipped around, looking up at Keith expectantly, who opened his eyes slightly.

“You want me to come with?” Keith asked.

“To help with your costume,” Pidge said. After a beat, Pidge made the decision for him. “Oh, come on.” Grabbing the lapel of Keith’s jacket, Pidge tugged roughly and dragged him from the room.

“Hey!” Keith exclaimed, shrugging out of Pidge’s grasp. 

“Do you want my help, or don’t you?” Pidge stomped a small foot on the ground in frustration a single eyebrow cocked up in challenge.

“I do,” said Keith, grudgingly. “Thanks for doing this,” he added. 

“I like Halloween.” Pidge shrugged, gazing up at Keith’s nervous stare. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re about to tell me I have cancer or something. Why so serious?” Pidge added in a hissing tone. Keith didn’t appear to have gotten the joke. Whatever, it was Halloween. Or, technically it was a week before Halloween. As close as they were going to get, under the circumstances.

Keith rolled his head back and forth noncommittally, “I just… I’m not sure about this whole pumpkin carving thing.” 

Pidge actually snorted. “Are you serious? You’re this worked up over carving pumpkins?”

“I don’t know, Lance said I’d be good at it, but we only have so many and I don't want to ruin any of them.”

Pidge’s eyes opened slightly in realization before nodding knowingly, “I don’t think you’re worried about the pumpkins, then,” Pidge replied. “You’re worried about what _Lance thinks_ about the pumpkins.”

“What?” Keith asked, eyes opening wider than Pidge thought possible as his head whipped toward the shorter paladin. “I didn’t say that,” he insisted, his voice straining higher.

“Aww… you don’t want to disappoint him. That’s kinda cute.” Pidge lifted a slim nose in the air, sly smile spreading wide on that petite face.

Keith glared, turning to stomp away, “Shut up,” Keith grumbled. “Forget I said anything.”

Pidge’s step halted for a moment, biting a lip before jogging forward at Keith’s side. “You know, it’s okay not to be good at everything you try,” Pidge said, following Keith as he turned a corner leading to his quarters. “I helped Hunk all day in the kitchen. I’m no good at cooking on my own. But it was fun. Because we talked and we laughed, and he made me feel like it didn’t matter that I genuinely sucked at it.”

Keith considered, a deep frown wrinkling his features, “So you’re saying I suck at crafts?”

“No, I’m saying it’ll be fun because of the people you’re with. Stop thinking so hard about being good and just enjoy it. They’re Halloween crafts, it’s not the Hunger Games.”

“I guess the whole point of the parties was to relax,” Keith began, and Pidge wasn't sure if he quite understood, but decided to take the win. Small victories.

“Yeah, man, there you go,” Pidge replied, slapping the red paladin’s back. “The next three hours are about having lots of fun. No thinking, no worries, just having fun with your friends. In awesome costumes,” Pidge added.

Keith smiled.

 

\---------------

 

Keith left his room feeling a lot better than he had going in. Pidge helped him assemble his costume, and he’d zipped his jacket up to conceal the white shirt beneath, but some of it was still visible at his stomach. Nothing that would give away the punchline of his costume, however, and that was the most important thing. Above all, he’d left with yet another trademark Pidge Peptalk. Tonight was about having fun.

Keith put aside the vortex of questions in his mind surrounding his Galra heritage, along with the trepidation over meeting the Blade once more tomorrow, and his concerns about the upcoming missions to defeat Zarkon. All of that could wait. Tonight he would enjoy himself with his friends and nothing else.

Friends didn’t seem an adequate word. Keith had friends in the past, people he studied with at school, or met up in town when there was nothing to do. But not ones he went to when he needed help. Never ones who he cared about enough to die for, as he almost had in rescuing Pidge from the freeze on Kalistor. It wasn’t clear to him when the people on the ship had become so close to him. Keith didn’t have much family left, or at least that’s as much as he’d admitted to Lance. The truth was he had none, at least none in the traditional sense. There was always Shiro, like a brother to him, if not by blood. But Keith hadn’t noticed as the others on board, his friends and fellow paladins, had slowly crept their way into his made family.

Keith entered the Lounge and arrived to a chorus of “Hey”s and “Keith”s. Lance bounded over to him, lopsided grin plastered across his features, his own jacket closed in the front, and bulging a bit.

“Hey, you ready for the big reveal?” Lance inquired. “We’re just waiting for Pidge and Hunk.” Lance was the one piece that didn’t fit into that family so neatly. They fought like brothers sometimes, and talked like friends other times, but Lance also made him nervous, an anxious feeling that Keith didn’t like and couldn’t account for.

“Pidge was just finishing up, so it shouldn’t be long,” Keith informed him with a shake of his head, black bangs tickling the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, Hunk is bringing more chips and truffles. Holy quiznak, Keith, you’ve gotta try these things. They’re insane.” Lance’s smile lit up his whole face, blue eyes glittering with mirth.

“No more of the truffles until the Trick-or-Treat is done,” Hunk chimed from the doorway. Turning to greet him, Keith noticed that Hunk’s own jacket was also zipped closed over his shirt. Apparently he and Lance weren’t the only ones who went simple on their costume. As Hunk carried the chips to the corner by the food table, however, Keith spied Coran with a full cape and hood shrouding his costume from head to toe.

“Sorry I’m late!” Pidge shouted, leaping through the doorway, footsteps cluttering to a halt. “So are we starting this party, or not?” 

Smiling, Shiro stepped forward, “Alright, everyone, first of all we should thank Hunk and Lance for putting together the food and decorations for tonight. Now we’ll be starting with Trick-or-Treat at the three tables. You’ll reveal your outfits as you approach the first table. Once you’re done, go relieve one of the treat-givers so they can have a chance. Let’s get started!”

Shiro and Allura walked to the craft table, Hunk and Coran stood behind the refreshment table, and Pidge took position at the pumpkin carving table. That left just Keith who followed Lance to Shiro’s table. 

“Trick or Treat!” Lance yelled, his enthusiasm incomprehensibly bright. 

“Trick'r Treat,” Keith mumbled. 

“Now, what costumes do we have here?” Shiro asked, and Keith and Lance both unzipped their jackets, Keith reaching for the blade at his hip. Keith raised it and Shiro examined his costume, a smirk spreading across his features. Shiro’s gaze passed over Lance and after a moment he snorted, rolling his eyes. “Great costumes, boys,” he said, handing each of them two candies wrapped in paper. The darker one, he assumed, was the truffle Lance was talking about. Allura insisted on handing them more candy, and Lance graciously accepted it, while Keith kept his eyes downcast. _Never look them directly in the eye._

As he turned away from the table, he finally caught sight of Lance’s costume. His shirt had a stitched on design in the form of a downturned, U-shaped magnet like the ones in old cartoons. Stuck in various places on the shirt were… baby chicks. Where had he even found those?

“Holy cheese!” Lance laughed, pointing at Keith’s own costume, and he looked down at it. The white shirt was pinned with recreations of three cereal box covers, drawings that Pidge had helped him with, and in between them were glued rings of a Fruit-Loops-alternative cereal that Hunk had created especially for him, at Pidge’s request. He hadn’t even charged Keith one of his birthday gift meal courses for the trouble. The colorful loops were splattered with fake blood, the cereal box covers similarly stabbed and bloodied. With the red-tipped Galra knife, the air was completed. “You’re a cereal killer!” laughed Lance, gripping his side.

“And you’re a chick magnet,” Keith deadpanned, understanding why Shiro had rolled his eyes, and struggling not to do the same. 

“Yeah, some of us are just born this way. Thanks for noticing,” Lance replied with a wink, and this time Keith really did roll his eyes. They proceeded to the next station, and Hunk laughed at their costumes, doing his best to explain the wordplay involved to Coran as he distributed the candies. Coran studiously watched the exchange, making mental notes of the method involved. Lastly, they met Pidge at the carving table. 

““Trick or Treat!” Lance shouted, and Keith murmured, “Trick’r Treat.”

“I’m sorry, what was that, Keith?” Pidge asked, cupping an ear with one hand and leaning toward him. 

“Trick or Treat,” he grumbled, careful to pronounce each syllable. Pidge grinned, and handed them candy, chuckling over Lance’s costume.

“It’s very you,” Pidge proclaimed, and Lance’s chest puffed.

“Thank you, thank you very much.” Lance curtsied pulling the hem of shirt tight as he bowed at Pidge.

“Hey, Keith, would you take over here for me?” Pidge asked, excitement brimming in the young Holt’s eyes. 

“Sure,” Keith replied, sliding around the back of the table. Pidge pulled off a jacket and revealed a poster-like decorated sheet covered in drawings of Pidge, pigeons, pidgey and the other pokemon pigeons that Keith didn’t know the names of, and computers all surrounding a green voltron logo, lacquered down with a sheen. “What are you?” he asked. 

“Hey, I thought Pidge helped with your costume, shouldn’t you know?” Lance accused.

“Yeah, but I didn’t help with Pidge’s,” Keith replied simply. 

“It was a surprise,” Pidge said. “Trick or Treat!”

“And what costume do we have here?” Keith asked, as if rehearsed, and it was. Pidge had made him practice so he wouldn’t ‘screw up the best part of Halloween’ since he didn’t have much experience with it.

“I’m a Pidge hodgepodge Modge Podge. I’m a Pidge Podge!” Lance guffawed and Keith smirked with a snort.

“What’s with the scarf?” Keith asked, and Pidge blushed.

“It’s just… something I asked Lance to make me,” Pidge replied sheepishly. Keith’s eyes widened, his neck craning to see Lance. Keith hadn’t realized he’d made anything for the other paladins.

“Well, here you go,” Keith said, placing a handful of candies in Pidge’s outstretched hands. “Happy Halloween!”

“That’s way more than they gave us,” Lance complained and Pidge grinned. “This is favoritism. You can’t give Pidge more than the rest of us.”

“Why not? Pidge is still growing and is the most likely to still have a taste for this much sugar.”

“I will _never_ lose the taste for this much sugar,” Lance challenged and Keith smirked.

“Oh, come on,” Pidge groaned, grabbing the back of Lance’s jacket before Keith could retort, and dragging him back toward Hunk, “you have to take a table.” Keith had forgotten, and was momentarily disappointed that Lance didn’t get to stay, but quickly pushed the thought away. Having expectations were what caused disappointment. Expecting nothing was the surest defense. 

Hunk and Coran came up, Hunk pulling off his coat to reveal… an egg, a yellow circle painted on a white background with a black outline traced around it.

“You’re an egg?” Keith asked. 

“Oh, whoops,” Hunk chuckled, digging into the pockets of his jacket, plucking something from within and drawing it out, affixing a headband to his head with two small, red horns atop. It took longer than Keith wanted to admit before he laughed.

“You’re a _deviled_ egg,” Keith said. 

“Ooh, me next!” Coran shouted, brandishing the corner of his cape, and whipping it off in a flourish. Coran wore all orange clothing, small bands of black striping around it. He placed a small orange cone on his head and stood very straight and tall so Keith could see the full ensemble, the crayola logo standing starkly against the orange fabric.

“You’re a crayon,” Keith said, grinning. “Coran the crayon.”

“Coran crayon the gorgeous man!” Coran announced. Hunk laughed at his side. 

“That’s awesome, dude,” Hunk said. “You said Lance helped you?”

“Yes, Lance was very helpful in the process. The costume was his choice and he helped me with the design and execution.” 

“Well, let’s go get some more candy,” Hunk prompted, and the pair walked back Lance. “Happy Halloween!”

“Happy Halloween,” Keith replied, and had a moment to wonder just how Lance had managed to knit a sweater, a scarf, needle felt a shirt full of chicks and one hippo, draw designs for jack-o-lanterns, paper crafts, and coloring pages, all in the two days since they got supplies on Chaitar. Soon Shiro and Allura were all that was left, circling the tables until they ended up at his, Shiro wrapped in strips of cloth as a mummy, Allura wearing a paper drawing of toast with a small blue white and red flag sticking out of it.

“French toast,” he said, smiling, careful only to look at the costume and not Allura’s expression, whatever that might be. He handed them candy, and to his surprise, the pair sat down at the table afterward.

“You’re in charge of the pumpkin carving, I hear,” Shiro said. “Got any suggestions?”

“Uh,” Keith began, eyes flicking to Allura who was gazing away from him at Shiro, “Lance made a bunch of patterns up. Why don’t you take a look and find a couple you like and I’ll let you know which take the longest?” He handed them a stack to peruse, watching as Shiro leaned into her shoulder with his, head tilting her direction with a smile. Keith narrowed his eyes, watching her laugh as he explained the meaning behind designs, watching Shiro fluster from a comment about a graveyard. He wasn’t wrong, was he? Shiro was sitting… awfully close. He wasn’t usually attuned to these sorts of things, but… it was Shiro. Shiro wasn’t like that with anyone. Anyone but Keith. Something had definitely changed, and Keith wasn’t sure how to handle that. 

Allura couldn’t stand Keith, turned her nose up at his slightest glance, actively ignored him when she wasn’t throwing scorn his way. And Shiro was, what? With her, now? What the cheese?

Shiro lifted up a stylized Voltron drawing that Lance was particularly proud of, and Keith nodded. He helped them cut out and affix the pattern to a pumpkin-proxy of the right size. Keith cut a proper top for venting, Shiro gutted its seeds, and then Shiro helped Allura make the first cut, hand resting on hers to guide the knife. They laughed as it cut through faster than expected, Allura resting back against Shiro’s chest as they heaved and roared in amusement. 

Keith chuckled, forcing a smile. Shiro’s smile shut him up. To Keith, it seemed he’d completely forgotten his walls around Allura, or perhaps Shiro simply didn’t care who noticed the gleam in his eyes when he looked at her, all other cares forgotten. Had he _ever_ seen Shiro like this? He looked _young_. Shiro wasn’t that much older than Keith, but to the crew he was the parent, the stable force, the real adult. He’d always been that way with Keith. It was… nice to see him acting his age.

Keith avoided Allura’s gaze all the same; there was no reason to make a scene when Shiro was enjoying himself. He pointed out trouble spots, carving it himself at the tricky points where they needed to cut through only part of the flesh, and fairly soon had dropped in a small light sphere, illuminating it from the inside. Allura clapped, leaning cautiously against Shiro. She, at least, had a care for discretion. 

Keith didn’t hear what Shiro asked Allura, just nearly jumped when he stood up from the table, walking toward the food on the opposite side of the room. Keith stared at Allura, and immediately regretted it as he caught her disapproving glare. He dropped his gaze to her chin, a defense mechanism he’d learned the hard way in foster care. _Never look them in the eye_ he chided. 

“Still much to prepare for tomorrow,” Allura commented, and he nodded, keeping his eyes soft out of sheer habit. “I see you incorporated that blade as part of your costume,” she continued, and Keith flicked his eyes up. She was looking not at him, but the blade’s hilt resting at his side, sneering down at it. 

“It was Pidge’s idea,” he offered, but felt unsatisfied with the explanation. It had been Pidge’s idea, but did she deserve to have him explain how he’d struggled with the decision, how it wasn’t until Lance’s speech to him about his Galra side in the training room that he’d decided he’d use it after all? Keith decided not.

“I’m not certain it’s wise to carry that blade,” she said, eyes boring into his own. Keith took a breath. “We’re not certain anything Galra can be trusted.”

“I’m Galra,” he replied, “at least part.”

“Perhaps that’s what I mean, then,” Allura said, “and I think we’d be remiss if we didn’t mistrust that part. You know only a fraction of the horrors the Galra have enacted against my people and the others in this galaxy. Who knows what any Galra is capable of?” 

Keith stood from the table. He managed a small “excuse me”, for which he was proud, and walked out the nearby doorway. He didn’t walk far, picking an obliging wall to lean against a few paces to the right of the doorway. Keith took a breath. He wasn’t sure how he felt. It was a mixture of rage and anguish and shame that broiled in his center. Keith breathed again, trying to fill tight lungs that refused to stretch. 

“Keith, wait!” a voice shouted, sprinting from the door, “Don’t go! Oh,” Lance continued turning toward Keith. He closed the Lounge doors, then strode over toward Keith down the hall.

“I was never leaving, Lance” Keith insisted, “I just… need a minute.”

Blue eyes took in the slight tremor of Keith’s clenched fists and the ragged way his chest tried to suck air into his body and he watched that bright blue darkened behind slitted eyelids, “What did she say to you?” Lance demanded, voice hot with a fire he’d never heard before. Keith was taken aback, neck craning back toward the wall behind him, cool metal soothing the static in his brain. What should he say to Lance? That he had made the mistake of becoming close to Allura, and that’s why her rejection hurt him? Rejection always stung the worst from people you cared about. Perhaps he should tell Lance he should have pulled away sooner.

“Don’t worry about it,” Keith spoke to the ceiling. 

“‘Don’t worry about it’?” The incredulousness of his tone was palatable. “I told you,” Lance leaned in close to catch Keith’s eye, “straight up her quiznak.”

Keith squeezed his eyes shut and chose his words carefully trying to defuse the situation, “She just told me she’s not sure she can trust me, now. I swear, that’s it.”

“Now that you’re Galra, you mean,” Lance growled, then leaned back, sighing. “I know she’s going through her own stuff, but she doesn’t have to say that kind of cheese. I’m sorry,” Lance soothed.

“I’m fine with what she said,” Keith began, twisting his foot against the floor, “mostly because I feel the same way. I’m not sure if I can or should trust myself, either.”

“That’s what makes it worse!” Lance exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “You’re already unsure about all this and she just kicked you where it hurts.” Keith sighed, staring at nothing in particular, and certainly not at Lance. The brown-haired boy had been more than supportive, but Keith still held a secret fear in his chest that he’d look up and see that same disgust in Lance’s face, even for a moment, and Keith didn’t think he’d survive it.

“I don’t think I can stick around Allura all night,” Keith said.

“You’re not gonna be by Allura, I promise,” Lance said wrapping warm fingers around Keith’s hand and squeezing reassuringly, he looked the shorter boy in the eye, voice firm. “Look, we’re gonna go back in there and we’re gonna bob for some cheesing apples, alright? And we’re gonna make paper pumpkins and we’re gonna watch a play and gorge ourselves on things we’ll regret tomorrow. And we’re gonna do it all far away from Allura, alright? You with me?” Keith looked up at Lance, still wary for that look of revulsion, but found only bright eyes pleading back at him. Keith nodded, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, only relaxing when the warm hand slipped out of his to wrap a gentle arm around his shoulders, guiding him back to the room.

 

\---------------

 

Lance came and grabbed Hunk as soon as he’d finished retrieving Keith. Hunk wasn’t sure what was said, but Lance seemed determined to make the most of their Halloween in the spree that followed. First he dragged Hunk over to the pumpkins, all but forcing him to carve one with Keith’s help. Keith shrugged, and helped him choose a funny face and jumped in when Hunk had trouble. Then Lance dragged the pair of them to bob for apples, where the trio got uncomfortably wet, and Keith stained his cereal killer shirt with more fake blood as water dripped it down his front, a green loop sogging and dripping out onto the floor to Hunk and Lance’s uproarious laughter. 

At the craft table, Lance helped Hunk and Keith cut out strips of incredibly thick orange paper, almost like plastic but not as smooth, affixing them at the bottom and top with glue in a ring of vertical stripes. Then they made green toppers to complete the pumpkins. Lance wrote their names on a leaf attached to the topper so they would know whose was whose. It was a whirlwind. Hunk was used to Lance’s enthusiasm when it came to holidays, but even he had to admit this was a bit overboard. 

“How much candy have you eaten?” he asked Lance as they loaded plates of food, finally getting a moment’s peace from Lance’s non-stop Halloween extravaganza.

“I am saving my Trick-or-Treat candy for later,” Lance proclaimed proudly, piling on three mini pizzas and dousing them unceremoniously with a handful of chips--the sour cream and onion flavor. Hunk grimaced. He didn’t mind food touching that was meant to be eaten together, but the chips were going to get sogged by the oil from the pizza, the pizza in turn getting chip flavoring on them…

“So, apart from the twelve you ate before the party started?” Hunk asked, and Lance yawned, eyes squinting shut as his head leaned away from the crowd. “Are you crashing already? You shouldn’t have binged all that sugar.”

“Ridiculous,” Lance said, grabbing a handful of truffles and caramels and sneaking them into the spare corners of his plate. “There is no such thing as a sugar binge on Halloween.”

“I don’t think Halloween gives your pancreas magical powers to process extra sugar,” Keith offered, placing some nacho-flavored chips gently next to his pizza like a civilized human being. 

“It’s a supernatural day,” Lance reminded them as if that was explanation enough, and they all walked to the center of the room, balancing plates on cups of cider, plopping down on the couches and chomping down heartily on their Halloween fare. Hunk was seated at the end, then to his right sat Lance, Keith, and soon Pidge hopped over the back of the sofas to sit on Keith’s other side. “Glad you could join us, Pidgers.”

“Just 'Pidge' if you don’t want my foot stuck so far up your--”

“Whoa!” Lance hollered, “I get it, I get it. Pidge it is.” Pidge grinned. 

“You don’t have any food?” asked Hunk.

“Oh, I ate while you were making those bouncy paper pumpkin things,” Pidge replied. “But I don’t want to miss the show.”

“Oh, is that starting?” Lance perked up, talking through a mouthful of greasy chips. He was answered shortly thereafter, as Coran leapt forward to the front of the ring of couches, sliding to a stop in the center. Shiro and Allura snuck past Coran, seating themselves on Pidge’s right side.

Coran clearly enjoyed the stage, and Hunk thought his flashy personality suited him to it. He raised a hand regally, resplendent in his orange crayon costume, and addressed the six of them.

“Thank you, ladies and gentleman. With the assistance of numbers two and five--”

“I really don’t like being called _‘Number 2’_ , if you know what I mean,” he whispered to Lance, who chuckled.

“Hey, I don’t like ‘Number 3’ much, either.”

“I will be putting on a once-in-a-lifetime production of ‘It’s the Great Poonkan Karly Brawn.”

“Oh, so close,” Lance whispered, grinning ear to ear. They all clapped as Coran took position, and in all seriousness began exaggerated searching motions with hand to his brow, scanning back and forth. 

“I will find the largest poonkan in the field and bring it home,” Coran intoned in a high voice. “Ah! Marry, I see one there yonder! Verily forsooth!”

“What is this, Shakespeare?” Keith mumbled and Lance nudged him with his right shoulder with a toothy grin.

“This learned constable is too cunning to be understood,” Lance retorted. Keith looked at him askance. 

“You can’t use ‘quiznak’ right, but you know Shakespeare?”

“What?’ Lance whispered, offended by Keith’s tone. “That’s my favorite play, I’ll have you know. I told you, mullet, I am a man of many talents.”

“He took a class so he could learn to pick up girls using sonnets,” Hunk supplied in the barest of whispers, and Keith nodded knowingly. 

“That’s not true,” Lance hissed, “that’s not the _only_ reason I took the class.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Keith muttered back, rolling his eyes at Lance, whose eyes shifted away 

“Guys, you’re missing the best part!” Pidge wheezed in a laugh. Turning back, Hunk saw Coran stab into the ‘pookan’, grunting, his free hand tossing blood out from the jack-o-lantern. He then switched places to observe it.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to kill it!” he yelled, running off their makeshift stage. They clapped at the end of the scene to give Coran time to run on stage and clean up after himself.

“Does he need help?” Hunk asked.

“I already asked, he really wanted to do all the parts himself,” Pidge said.

“He does know pumpkins don’t bleed when you cut them, though, right?” Keith asked.

“Yeah, he might have gotten a little confused after our horror prank,” Pidge whispered. 

“Oh, boy,” Shiro said, wincing at the bloody scene.

“Is that not right?” Allura asked from his right side. 

“It’s not a big deal or anything,” Shiro soothed, “Pumpkins carve just like the gourds we carved earlier.”

“Then why did the boy say the girl was killing the pookan?”

“They’re children,” Shiro said simply. “Children are innocent, and to him it seemed like the pumpkin was being killed. It’s just a little joke.”

“So you mock your children for being innocent?”

“Well,” Shiro scratched at the scar across his nose, “not exactly…” Allura laughed at Shiro’s obvious discomfort.

Coran began the next scene, which was easily Hunk’s favorite. He’d done his best to explain football to Coran, and the sight gag of having Lucy pull the football just before Charlie Brown kicked. To have it acted out was another level of entertainment entirely. Coran dashed back and forth across the stage to fill the positions of both roles and ultimately used his own hands to lift the gourd-ball out of his way as he flipped up, landing on his back. Lance laughed so hard he cried, and even Keith cracked a full smile, his teeth showing while Lance rolled back and forth between Hunk and Keith, leaning on them for support as he lost it completely. Hunk hadn’t seen an expression like that on Keith’s face in a long time, and Lance had had a stressful few days, so it was good to see them both relaxing for once.

The letter mailing scene was pretty good, too, with Coran understanding mailboxes to be a sport and hurling a letter into a box behind them all to a chorus of cheers. He handed them props to give out as he Trick-or-Treated as each child, having them hand him a rock when he came by as ‘Karly Brawn’. 

“Gotta love audience participation,” Lance said with a grin.

“No I don’t,” Keith grumbled.

“You are so literal, Keith,” Lance snorted, bumping shoulders with the dark-haired paladin. 

It wasn’t the last of the gore, either. When Linus, or ‘Lines’ as Coran called him, accidentally said ‘ _If_ the Great Pookan comes’ instead of ‘ _when_ ’, Coran’s version of Lines kicked at some of the pookans in the patch, blood splattering out from them in great gobs. 

“Holy crow!” Pidge exclaimed, but Lance just bellowed in laughter.

“You okay, buddy?” Hunk chuckled, wiping a tear from the outside corner of his own right eye and peering over at Lance.

“This is helping,” Lance sighed. “I don’t know _how_ , I don’t know _why_ , but for some reason this is helping.” Hunk knew exactly what he meant. They’d really put Lance through the ringer during their ill-advised prank, and the extra gore had been truly horrifying from Lance’s perspective. The juxtaposition of Coran’s ridiculous and unnecessary gore in what should have been a depiction of a beloved children’s movie was just what Lance needed to cleanse it from his system. 

“You look tired,” Keith offered as Lance wiped tears away from both cheeks. Hunk thought Keith might have a point, spying dark circles beneath his eyes--probably hidden with concealer by the vain blue paladin before laughter tears wiped them away--and his eyes were red from more than just the laughter.

“Did you have trouble sleeping last night?” Hunk inquired.

“No,” Lance replied, pausing. “I fell asleep just fine.”

“ _When_ did you fall asleep?” Hunk jumped on the hesitation in Lance’s word choice. English wasn’t his first language and sometimes he had to think extra hard to lie.

“Late,” Lance replied, waving a hand vaguely. 

“Late or early?” Keith asked, eyes narrowing.

“You barely slept, didn’t you?” Hunk accused. 

“I had too much to do!” Lance insisted in a harsh whisper, leaning forward away from them, resting both elbows on his knees, head swiveling back and forth as he continued. “You know how long it takes to knit a single chain of a sweater? Or needle felt a dozen chicks? Or create patterns for pumpkin carving or a bunch of other crafts? Now quiet, you’re ruining Coran’s performance.”

“You made my sweater two nights ago,” Keith whispered. “When was the last night you slept? You should go to bed.” 

“No way,” Lance hissed, “this play is the best thing to happen all week. Just let me think about Coran kicking those stupid ‘pookans’ instead of Zarkon and the Empire and the Blade and Voltron. Just for now. Just for a little bit.”

Keith looked up at Hunk, and he saw concern etched in the lines of his eyes, but Hunk shook his head. There was no need to force Lance just yet, and he was clearly having fun. Keith nodded, leaning forward until he was shoulder-to-shoulder in line with Lance, tossing occasional glances over at the blue paladin.

They watched Coran sleeping in the pumpkin field, jumping up to play the part of Lucy--the only name Coran managed to get right--searching in that exaggerated way Coran did. Lance’s eyes drooped and fluttered as he watched. Hunk was this close to insisting he go to bed when Lance nearly toppled forward as his right elbow slipped off his knee. Keith caught him by the arm and drew them both backward so Lance was lounging on the couch between Keith and Hunk. Leaning back, Lance’s eyes naturally closed and his head rolled to the right resting on Keith’s shoulder. Hunk watched as Keith froze in place, eyes shooting open fully and slowly turning to fall on Lance’s sleeping form. Hunk held back a laugh.

“Just let him sleep,” Hunk nudged, and Keith looked like he was about to protest until Pidge piped up from his right. 

“Just for a little bit?” Pidge pleaded, and Hunk almost laughed again at the pitiful expression on Keith’s face, so confused and flustered. The uncertainty on Keith’s features was only deepened as Lance shifted his body lifting one long leg and hooking it over Keith’s left knee. Pidge snorted and Hunk guffawed, which he quickly yelped silent so as not to distract from Coran’s attempt to drag himself out of the pumpkin patch, kicking his feet to slide his body along the ground while one arm reached behind him to tug him off the stage. Between the two sights, Hunk wasn’t sure which one was funnier. 

Keith sat stock still and flushed in embarrassment as the pair chuckled at his expense, but he didn’t move, and Hunk slapped a hand on his shoulder in appreciation. Coran carried out the final scene, switching between Lines and Karly Brawn, ultimately yelling out his assertions that he would find the Great Pookan next Halloween, falling to the ground dramatically, then popping up to take a final bow to their riotous applause. Lance stirred, his face frowning in his sleep and he leaned in, cuddling closer against Keith, whose flush rocketed up to his ears. 

Shiro and Allura reached Coran first, beaming at their apparent praise. After the pair headed away, Pidge hopped up to congratulate Coran. As Shiro collected crafts with Allura and turned to leave the Lounge, Hunk hopped up after Pidge, throwing an apologetic shrug Keith’s way as he trapped him alone on the couch with Lance. 

“I really enjoyed the Trick-or-Treating,” Pidge offered, “very true to life.”

“Yes, well I really tried to get into character when we practiced earlier,” Coran said, twisting his moustache with the fingers of his right hand. 

“I don’t know, I think he nailed the iconic football scene,” Hunk offered. “Nothing says Peanuts like Lucy pulling that football away from, um, Karly Brawn at the last second. It was perfect.”

“Why thank you,” Coran radiated confidence, “you’re too kind. And thank you for taking the time to explain the script to me.”

“Oh, you helped with the script, huh?” Pidge asked, one eyebrow raised. “You explained everything, did you?”

“I may have advised him a little,” Hunk admitted, a smirk twitching at the corners of his lips.

“Oh, yes, he was tremendously helpful. I asked questions, and he explained everything in great detail. Mailboxes were so curious to me, but I think I have a handle on the concept, now.”

“Well, great job,” Hunk said, speeding away.

“You helped _write_ that?” Pidge whispered frantically.

“I explained the plot, he asked me questions,” Hunk said. “Although, when those questions got too weird or complicated, I just agreed with whatever he said.”

“Holy crow,” Pidge laughed, and as they returned to the couches, they saw Keith scoop up Lance’s other leg, hooking it over his lap and rising slowly from the couch, bracing a sleeping Lance against his chest. 

“Wow, he’s really out of it,” Hunk remarked. “He’s usually a pretty light sleeper.”

“I guess not sleeping for three days will do that to you,” Keith whispered, shifting Lance in his arms. His head rolled backward, his mouth opening and Lance let out a small breath along the roof of his mouth. 

Pidge squealed, overwhelmed. “Aww, they’re so cute when they’re sleeping.”

“They?” Hunk asked.

“You know, kids.” Hunk tossed an incredulous gaze Pidge’s way.

“I’ll make sure he gets to sleep,” Keith promised, eyes glancing away from them as he edged between the pair. Hunk saw his lips purse and his shoulders slouch as he made it out of the circle of couches and headed out the door. Hunk shot a glance at Pidge who grinned. They ran to the door.

“You sure you don’t need help?” Hunk asked.

“Uh, no,” Keith said, swinging around briefly to look at them, “I’ve got it.” Lance moaned and Keith froze, looking down at Lance as he squirmed into another position before relaxing again into Keith’s arms. Hunk thought Keith’s face burned another three shades of red darker in five seconds flat.

“Don’t forget his face mask!” Hunk chuckled down the hall.

“Yeah, I’ve got it,” Keith groaned as he turned his back on the pair.

“And his headphones!” Pidge added.

“What the cheese? I said I’ve got it. Crow.” The pair giggled at Keith’s sudden outburst, and Hunk turned back toward the Lounge.

“You’re not going to sleep?” Pidge asked, head tilting to one side quizzically.

“You go ahead. I’m just gonna put some of the leftovers away. It won’t take long.”

“Well, I can help,” Pidge began, an inconvenient yawn choosing that moment to crawl across the honey-haired youth’s face. “Okay, that was bad timing,” Pidge admitted, and Hunk grinned.

“No, seriously, go ahead, I won’t be long. Get some sleep.” Pidge nodded reluctantly, 

Hunk began with the food, clearing most of it in a single trip, but on his second trip he decided to collect some of the trash. But to take out the trash, he had to clear and wipe down the tables first. Since they were clear, he folded the tables down into their small squares, which he was just going to leave to the side, but the storage room was so close to the Lounge... Then, of course, Hunk realized he’d left his jacket in the Lounge, and since he was there, it seemed silly not to arrange the crafts in a corner and organize them by person so it would be easy for people to collect tomorrow. And since it was almost done, sweeping up seemed only fair. By the end of it, Hunk realized he’d cleaned the whole room himself, and it was now several hours past his bedtime. 

Hunk sighed, slapping closed the door controls and striding down the hallways away from the Lounge. He was going to be tired tomorrow, but at least no one else would have to worry about cleaning up before the Blade arrived. Hunk pushed away the thought. The Blade, the Galra Empire, Zarkon--they were all problems for tomorrow Hunk. Tonight Hunk was happy and well-fed and very, very sleepy. Hunk drifted through the halls of the Castle, eager for a pillow, a blanket, and a good night’s sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG! I hope you liked it. I've already had a request for an epilogue, so I might add that here later. 
> 
> A big thank you to GlassAlice as always for fantastic editing help. Follow GlassAlice on Tumblr!
> 
> And you may follow me, too, if you wish right here.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I had a great time writing this, even if having a deadline is a bit stressful. Comments are so appreciated! I love hearing your feedback and what you enjoyed. I hope you'll keep an eye out for the next installment in my Voltron Canon Expansion, a prequel episode coming at the end of January 2018. 
> 
> A big thank you to GlassAlice for the editing assist. Thanks! [Check out GlassAlice on Tumblr](http://yuzuling.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you want, you can check me out on tumblr, too. [Starbuck7on Tumblr](http://starbuck-7.tumblr.com/)


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